


The Wolf Moon

by TheChimeraSculptress



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 00:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheChimeraSculptress/pseuds/TheChimeraSculptress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different take on the Logan/Marie first encounter at the bar, and what happens after it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Notes/introduction:

In this story Marie never ran away, her parents accepting her mutation as best they could, and she managed to get through her teenage years with minimal angst. School, and college were an impossibility however, and so she was forced to have private tutors, although the friends she had before her mutation took effect remained loyal and kept in contact with her during all that time, even David. In fact, his affection for her was so intense that they resumed their relationship after he came out of his coma, although for a long time Marie was overwhelmed by guilt over what had happened and it took David some time to convince her that there was 'nothing to forgive and that it had just been an accident.' They obviously had to be careful when their relationship turned sexual but found it a thrilling (!) challenge to work around Marie's mutation!

On her twentieth birthday, on the drive home from her surprise party where David proposed and she accepted, disaster struck and she and David were involved in a car crash. David was killed instantly and she was badly injured. But during her time in hospital it was discovered that by some freak twist of fate the accident has suddenly given her the ability to control her mutation and she could now turn it off and on at will. This meant little to her at the time though as she grieved for David but a year after his death she finally began to see what this breakthrough means...that she can walk safely amongst people again...that she can do something she has always dreamed...travel.

For her twenty-first birthday her parents buy her a four-wheeled drive (jeep Cherokee) and having always wanted to visit Canada she uses her savings to pay for a month long vacation, with no set route or destination – just a detailed map for guidance and the intension to stay at motels between days spent sight-seeing. Meanwhile, Logan is still doing the cage fighting circuit, has never met the X-Men and is still one bitter, emotionally fucked up, individual (don't you just love the angsty side of him – hee hee!)

This story begins about two weeks into Marie's vacation.

Oh, and the X-Men will turn up though!

 

Word of warning...I started this fic years ago, reached chapter 11, and then got preoccupied with other things and never continued it. Which means, I will post those old 11 chapters but I can't guarantee that I'll continue it. Never say never though!

 

Chapter One... A Dead Alternator and A Dying Man...

Marie hummed contentedly to herself as she lightly gripped the steering wheel, the toasty warmth of the jeep's interior helping her wind down from an enjoyable, albeit long day, spent driving and sightseeing. The afternoon had just given way to evening and the sky, weighted with snow, was already dark, a full moon pushing its way determinedly up through the sluggish cloud.

She flicked her eyes onto the glowing sphere as she cruised at a cautious speed through the rapidly deteriorating weather, the clouds parting long enough to grant her a few seconds full viewing before they decided to smother it possessively again.

The Wolf Moon, she thought wistfully, wisely returning her eyes back to the road. That was its name during the month of January. She knew because she had avidly read up on Indian folklore before setting off on this trip, wanting to add a mystical touch to the long, unknown road that stretched out before her. In hindsight, it was a silly little whim, but one that she had been unable to resist indulging in. She had always been too dreamy for her own good and even now, at twenty-one, an adult in most people's eyes, she continued to cling on to the childhood quirk, almost with a desperation sometimes, fearing that if she lost it she might also lose a part of herself.

Besides, the last twelve months had been a bastard of a year. She had battled her way so hard through a minefield of emotions following David's death – numbness, despair, grief and pain, to name but a few, that she felt a little bit of childish whim was long overdue. In fact, she found it to be a much-needed comfort.

The Wolf Moon, she repeated, aloud this time, her voice low and dramatic and sprinkled with a dusting of excitement. It sounded so...so mysterious... even a touch dangerous and would've compelled her to write poetry if she had any talent for it, which sadly, she didn't.

She chewed down upon her plump bottom lip thoughtfully, finally accepting that fancies aside, January wasn't really the most sensible time to be travelling through Canada though, and her parents had voiced their concerns many times since she had first announced her decision to go. But it was undeniably cheaper, less populated by tourists except for the skiers and snowmobile fanatics (so a website informed her) and the only time to see snow in all its wild, untamed glory. She had been fantasising about snow like this since she was a child!

Grinning, she was in the middle of promising herself that at some stage during this trip she was going to have to make a snowman, when she was promptly wrenched from her reverie by a worrying sensation -

\- the jeep started to judder.

Intermittently at first but it was rapidly becoming more consistent.

She had almost reached her next motel stop and only had another twenty or so kilometres to go. She prayed that the vehicle would hold out until then but no sooner had she dared to hope, the inevitable happened.

Snapping her gaze down in panic she watched in horror as every dial on her dashboard suddenly dropped, in unsettling unison, to zero – she didn't even know what speed she was driving anymore. When the window wipers shuddered to a halt only a few seconds later and snowflakes began to start piling up against the windscreen she knew that she had no choice but to pull in somewhere before the jeep completely broke down or she had an accident. She shivered at the latter.

As the snow piled higher against the glass, she forced down her painful memories and swiftly returned her attention back to the present. The dashboard lights had failed by now, the dials barely discernable in the darkness of the car interior.

She already had a hunch what it could be – the alternator. The exact same thing had happened a few years ago to her parent's car during a day trip out. Not a good thing, she warned herself. Definitely not a good thing at this time of night, in this kind of weather, and whilst travelling alone.

Marie didn't like to swear if she could help it, good manners having been drummed into her from an early age by an old fashioned, Southern-through- and-through mother, but she felt that this was one of those rare occasions where bad language was just plain unavoidable.

Fuck!

She had just reached a road sign – directions to a small town called Laughlin City - and she quickly turned off the highway towards the place. Knowing that time was of the essence she swerved into the first car park she came across, tyres skidding alarmingly on the snow at the sudden manoeuvre, and she fought with the steering wheel in an attempt to remain in control of the vehicle.

She made it just in time. No sooner had she swung into an empty space, the car finally died on her.

"Damn it!"

She slammed her hands down hard onto the steering wheel, anger quenching her concerns for the time being. This was all she needed! She let out a little moan of despair – everything had been going so well, the vacation turning out to be all she had hoped – breath-taking scenery, pleasant motels, good food and friendly faces.

She frowned darkly, frustration diluting her anger. She should have known it would be too good to last. Her parents hadn't been altogether happy with her taking this trip and a scenario like this had been their main concern. They had insisted that she take out breakdown cover and thank god she had allowed them to bully her into it now! Initially she had rejected the idea – it was a new car after all.

But there was still going to be the long process of contacting the AAA, having them journey out to her and try to fix the problem – what if they couldn't fix it? They had been unable to fix her parent's car's alternator – it was too tricky a part to reach at the roadside, practically the whole engine had to be removed first - and they had been forced to tow them to the nearest garage.

But that had been during the day. No garage would be open at this time of night, surely? She pondered hopefully, realising that they could always tow her to her motel since it was such a short distance down the highway from here...

But what then? How would she get to a garage from the motel? Would the AAA return in the morning to tow it? Mortified, she realised that she didn't even know what cover she had taken out and she hoped it would all be detailed on her membership card.

Glaring daggers out the window, through the whipped-up frenzy of snowfall, her eyes narrowed – where the hell was she anyway? Laughlin City? She had scarcely entered the place and it already looked a dive.

She guessed that she was parked outside a bar. A seedy looking one at that, she decided, as she regarded it with distaste. The last thing she wanted to do was go into such an unsavoury looking establishment but she needed a telephone to contact the AAA. Her mobile had run out of power half an hour ago during a chat with a friend and she had intended to charge it back up at the next motel.

A motel she feared she was not going to reach anytime soon.

Taking a deep breath, her initial anger now making way for the first prickles of anxiety, she snatched her bag and coat from the passenger seat and dragged herself reluctantly out of the vehicle. Locking the door securely behind her she turned and stood a moment, leaning back against the cold hard metal as windswept snowflakes danced enchantingly in front of her face. When they moved in closer, landing upon her eyelashes to sting at her eyes, she forced herself to take a step forward and finally started off towards the bar entrance.

She didn't know why but she had the strangest feeling as her boots crunched through the snow. As if someone's eyes were trained upon her, burning a hole into the back of her head. Halting half way toward her destination, her gaze was tentatively drawn once again to the sky – to the moon – and a shiver ran down the length of her spine.

It looked so big, and shone so brightly, it felt as if it had suddenly decided to zoom in closer to the earth to observe her, watching with that man-in-the-moon face you always seemed to be able to make out upon its surface. But it didn't appear to be smiling. If anything, it looked decidedly menacing.

Quickly turning away she realised that her initial awe of the Wolf Moon had been replaced by something else, something more sinister, a dread that coiled so tightly around her chest that for a second she couldn't breath.

If she hadn't been so afraid she would have found it amusing, the fact that she couldn't get into the seedy looking bar quick enough.

***************

Logan took a long, much-needed drag of his cigar as he sat at the bar recovering from his latest cage fight, the sweet poison acting like a drug upon his senses, relaxing him, slowing the heartbeat that a few moments ago was thumping with so much adrenaline that he could barely register individual beats.

The beer he held in his other hand was another necessity to the winding-down ritual and as he rested the cigar in the ashtray before him he brought the bottle to his lips and knocked back half its contents in a couple of deep thirsty gulps.

"Hey there, handsome."

The soft female voice was chorused by the harsh click of heels striking the solid wood floor.

Continuing to drink, Logan flicked his eyes onto the woman. Moving the bottle from his lips and placing it back on the bar top he offered a fleeting, somewhat grudging nod of acknowledgment.

She claimed an empty bar stool and sidled up beside him. "Aw, cheer up Logan, for fuck's sake. You make me feel depressed just looking at yer."

He shrugged, reaching for his cigar again. "Then don't look," he suggested gruffly.

He heard her sigh and couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Treena was one of the few bar-flies that he actually liked, a bit classier than the others and a whole lot more genuine, and he respected that. He always looked forward to her company when he was passing through this part of Canada. They had had sex a few times and it had been good but for the last few visits they had simply settled for being drinking buddies, which, surprisingly, seemed to suit them better.

Logan sensed rather than saw Treena flick back a lock of thick blond hair – it seemed to be a habit of hers. "You gonna tell me why those scowl lines are so deep you could hold pencils in em'?"

"Or," she persisted, "why you landed a couple of blows back there that you shouldn't have? It's not like the mighty Wolverine to let his opponent get the upper hand, even for a few seconds."

Stalling, he took another drag on his cigar. If anyone else had said those words and in such a mocking tone, he might have retaliated, given them a warning flash of metal, but this was Treena, and he knew she was only saying it out of concern, he could smell it radiating from beneath her cheap perfume.

Returning the cigar to the ashtray he took a deep breath, his shoulders suddenly seeming to weigh a ton, and not just down to the adamantium forged so mercilessly to his bones. "Just got some things on my mind."

She immediately reached across to his arm, affectionately squeezing the worn leather of his jacket. "Wanna talk about it?"

He stared down at her hand, admiring the long slender fingers and expertly applied red varnish, but before he could answer she added: "and yeah...I know that you're not the talking kinda guy... do I know it!" she teased. "But hey...even you must need to get things off your mind once in a while."

He turned and looked at her. At her beautiful face, hardened too soon. She belonged in a better place than this dive, he decided angrily; weary of seeing only the darker side of life, of having to deal with its shit day after fucking day. "You care too much," he growled back, although his scowl softened a little. He wasn't accustomed to anyone caring about him and it felt too unnatural for him to even begin to appreciate.

"And there's something wrong with that?" She suddenly became angry herself and he knew that if he kept this attitude up she was just going to walk away - he had always admired her spunk, the fact that she wouldn't take any of his crap.

And for some insane reason he didn't want her to walk away. He wanted to talk. She was the only one he could talk to, the only person besides old Jack who kept an eye on his cabin in the Rockies, whom he could actually call a friend.

'Friend?' He had never much cared for them before but he was getting kinda desperate of late. His head was so fucked up he could barely think straight, the nightmares getting so bad that if it weren't for his healing factor the deliberate lack of sleep would have driven him insane by now.

He fleetingly observed the bar checking that the bartender was well out of earshot and then glanced back at Treena again.

"I..." he started but faltered, his throat already beginning to restrict stubbornly.

Her heavily made up eyes seemed to reach out to him, encourage him. He had never noticed that they were such a vivid shade of blue before.

"I..." he tried again but even the effort of that single word made him run his hands through his hair under the pressure. He wasn't used to opening up to anyone and if he was to be totally honest, he wasn't comfortable doing so, but the weight pressing down upon him was becoming so intense now...so debilitating.

"I'm tired, Treena," he offered finally, grimacing inwardly at the sound of his voice – the hopelessness laced through every word – he sounded so fucking pathetic. "So tired of this life, this existence. Not knowing who I am. What my past is. This endless search for answers..."

She squeezed his arm again and her compassion swept around him like a warm embrace, a sensation he mentally recoiled from yet yearned to hold on to and never let go. He never lacked for sexual partners but his one night encounters were unable to fill that empty void within him. If anything, they seemed to make him feel colder, angrier, and over time he had become increasingly more aggressive in bed, selfish to the point where he didn't even care what the women's names were anymore.

"So fuckin' tired," he repeated hoarsely, distantly, bitterness lacing through his words like a curse. He reached for his beer bottle, gripping it so tightly in his hand that it felt as if his very life depended upon it and he had the overwhelming desire to crush it between his fingers, quench this pent-up rage, if only temporarily.

The fight just hadn't been enough tonight. Hadn't been enough to make him numb again. He had dreaded the arrival of this night for a long time...it marked the beginning of the end...

But what end that might be - good or bad - he had yet to determine.

"I know you are, Logan," Treena whispered sadly, so softly that he could only hear her because of his acute senses.

But she didn't know, Logan told himself. Not the intensity of his inner demons. She didn't know the number of times he had driven his claws through his chest trying to put an end to the torture once and for all. The number of times he had howled in despair, not through the pain caused by six lethal adamantium blades ripping through skin and bone, but the bitter knowledge that the moment he withdrew them again his mutation would kick in and fucking mend every shred of damage.

He sighed so heavily, so deeply, he felt as if he had almost stopped breathing altogether, the ache in his soul as painful as any metal blade now, more excruciating in fact, because there was no blade to retract to relieve the pressure, so it didn't stop, didn't end.

Would it ever end? Logan wondered desperately, or was he destined for an eternity of this torment? If this was karma's payback for a past life he must've been some kind of monster back then. Evil incarnate.

He dragged his fingers through his hair again conscious of Treena watching him intently and he couldn't bear to look at her, unable to face the pity he would see so clearly etched into her every feature.

He needed something, he realised frantically...a light...a hope... anything... something to give him a reason to keep going...to stop him sinking any deeper into this living hell...

He finally summoned the strength to meet Treena's eyes again.

Needed someone...?

She was special to him, more special than she would ever know, but she wasn't what his time-wearied heart was searching for...

"I need..."

"What is it, Logan?" she pressed gently, although there was increasing urgency in her tone. "What is it you need?"

She was talking to him in a way that would normally grate on his nerves, so soothing, so goddamn soothing, but he was passed caring now. He just wanted this pain to end. Every day this mockery that was his life laughed in his face as it slowly killed him, knowing that his mutation would not allow him the easy way out he longed for.

He was about to offer an answer of sorts when the bar exit suddenly swept open and a flurry of snow and cold air preceded a new patron – what appeared to be a young woman - wearing a large heavy coat and hood to protect her from the harsh weather.

She stepped into the warmth of the bar with a sigh of relief although Logan could sense wariness and even a hint of fear in her demeanour. Her scent washed over him, mingled with the raw bite of evening, and it stirred something in him that he had never felt before. Something desperate.

When she finally pulled back her hood, the sight of her struck him slap-bang in the chest, like he had been whacked with a baseball bat and the wind had been knocked completely out of him. For a moment he couldn't even think straight and when his eyes met and locked with hers across the empty bar it seemed as if they, too, were metal-laced and hers were seductive magnets drawing him to her.

But it wasn't only a physical attraction; he felt a surge of something sweep through him. A tidal wave of anticipation...an acknowledgment...a realisation...that she...she just might...he clenched his fists beneath the onslaught of emotion, his breath lodging in his throat like a stone.

Because all the time, she held his stare in exactly the same way, the same play of emotions so clearly visible upon her own face.

It made him wonder. Dare to hope...

That she felt it too?

And then he knew, knew just what had happened - what was happening.

She was the one.

The lump in his throat finally alleviated and he swallowed uncomfortably.

The one who was gonna save him.

And for the first time in over twenty years, he felt a moment's respite, felt at peace.

But in the next instant she suddenly severed their gaze to turn her attention to the man behind the bar and the spell – whatever it was that had passed between them - was instantly broken.

The sense of peace he had felt so intensely was shattered into a thousand pieces and every shard seemed to pierce his soul with a slither of regret.

Rolling his eyes, eyes that now glistened desolately, Logan rebuked himself for what bullshit he had been thinking.

Save him? he mocked, anger returning with a vengeance. He was more fucked up in the head than he realised. No one was gonna save him, especially not a beautiful young classy woman like that.

As _too good for the likes of you, bub,_ repeated over and over in his consciousness like a warning mantra he shook his head weakly. No. No one was gonna save the mighty Wolverine.

Even so, as he reached down for his cigar again he was unable to avert his lowered gaze from her slender form or deny the strange feeling that was already stirring awake in the pit of his gut.


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHOR's NOTE – I admire all those of you who can write Marie's Southern drawl so well. I'm afraid I can't so I'm not even gonna try. Also, living in the UK I know virtually nothing about Canada and it's geography except what I am learning from the net (maps, websites etc), so please excuse any inaccuracies concerning natural features, weather- conditions etc. I'm sort of bluffing my way through it but trying to keep things as neutral as possible.

OK...on with the story!

 

Chapter Two – Not Only Mutants Have Gifts

Marie didn't know what had just happened between her and the guy at the bar but she found it quite unsettling. Not unsettling in a bad way exactly, but she couldn't decipher its implication quickly enough to view it as a positive experience. She only knew that it had stirred something in the pit of her stomach that she hadn't felt since David.

She promptly severed the connection, wrenching their glued eyes apart, and quickly turned away.

Yet instead of feeling relief, she only felt...regret?

Regret?

Struggling to regain her composure she hurriedly approached the man behind the bar. "I wondered whether you could help me? Do you have a telephone I can use?"

The man gestured and she followed his pointed finger through to another room, separated from the bar by a wall of wooden slats. "Through there, honey. But it's being used right now."

Marie had worked that out for herself the minute she had laid eyes upon the fat balding man swearing down the receiver at some unfortunate soul, demanding money that he was owed.

She turned back and the bartender offered her a sympathetic smile. "Dan may be on there a while. Some business he's trying to sort out."

She sighed beneath her breath. Great!

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence before the bartender prompted the conversation again. "Can I get you a drink whilst you wait?"

Marie hesitated, sweeping her gaze along the many rows of bottles and glasses laid out behind him. She mentally shrugged. Well, it couldn't hurt. She didn't think she was going to be driving anymore tonight. Even so, and much to her frustration, that sensible side of her intervened before she could stop it.

"Do you have one of those low alcohol beers?"

The bartender grinned, but not unkindly. "Sure, honey. Might have to dust the bottle off a bit first though."

Despite her less than ideal circumstances she found his comment amusing rather than insulting and couldn't help but grin back. "Don't s'pose you get asked for them much," she joked sheepishly, dragging a lock of hair behind her ear. After what had happened with that guy when she had first entered the bar, the bartender's friendliness came as a welcome relief. Made things seem almost normal again.

"Not really," he returned with quiet laughter as he turned and proceeded to hunt around on one of the lower shelves for the beverage.

As she regarded him idly Marie felt her uneasiness gain momentum once more. She could feel that guy's eyes upon her still. In fact, she didn't think they had left her once since she had severed their gaze. They seemed to burn into her like branding irons, scorching into her soul, almost as if he were claiming her with his stare.

His interest in her continued to rouse weird emotions within her, emotions she couldn't explain. Emotions that seemed too crazy to even dare to contemplate. It had only been a look, she told herself, perplexed, they had only exchanged a simple look...

She felt a shiver run down her spine.

So why had it felt so much more?

Shaking away her pathetic notions she tried to be realistic. She had noticed that he was sat with a woman – his girlfriend - wife even - and was surprised that she hadn't protested of his blatant staring by now. She didn't look the type who would stand by and watch her man leering at another woman.

Leering? Well, in all fairness she couldn't really call it that. His stare had been too intense to be classed as mere leering, too full of...how could she describe it...desperation? And it hadn't made her skin crawl like leering did. Quite the opposite, actually.

She swallowed down something that was more anticipation than nervousness and slowly – so very slowly - turned her head.

His eyes flicked down to his beer label the minute hers landed upon him.

But to her surprise, the woman seated beside him immediately cast her a friendly smile. Not wanting to seem rude, Marie forced a shy smile in return.

"You're from down south, aint yer?" the woman announced, obviously spurred on by Marie's positive response. "I love that accent."

Her openness took Marie aback. "Mississippi," she returned, a little guardedly. She noticed that the guy had lifted his gaze from the beer bottle and was watching her again, although he seemed a little uncomfortable about doing so this time.

"Long way from home?" the woman pointed out.

Hearing warning bells sound off in her head, Marie was glad when the bartender placed her drink before her and she found herself too preoccupied to answer. She didn't want to seem impolite, but she was wary of revealing too much of herself to anyone whilst she was travelling alone like this. Women could be sicko's too.

"One low alcohol beer," the bartender stated, in the process of dusting himself off as well as the beer and in doing so confirmed that he really didn't sell too many bottles of the stuff. Either that or he didn't keep the shelves very clean, Marie decided, amused. He pried the lid off with a bottle opener as quickly and as efficiently as only a bartender could.

"Thanks," Marie returned and he offered her a final smile before whipping down a cloth that had been resting upon his shoulder and turning away to clean some glasses.

She lifted the bottle to her lips and took a small sip, immediately grimacing at the taste. She didn't drink beer often, but she realised that she much preferred the alcoholic version. Oh well. Too late now.

"How you hacking the cold?" the woman persisted and Marie didn't know whether to feel irritated or grateful of her sociable personality.

Marie turned back to her again. "Not too bad." But she couldn't help turn her attentions, even fleetingly, back to the man – Dan? – on the telephone – his voice raising considerably as he attempted to convince whoever it was at the other end of the line that it was not $100 but $150 he was owed.

She rolled her eyes despairingly.

"Dan shouldn't be too long," the woman reassured, contradicting what the bartender had said earlier. "He's been ranting for a while now."

Marie offered her a weak smile suddenly craving the warm comfort of a motel room.

"You OK?" the woman asked softly, concern filling her face. "Do you need the telephone that bad?"

"My jeep broke down," Marie revealed with a frustrated sigh and immediately chastised herself. So much for not revealing too much!

She noticed that the guy's features seemed to prick up at her words and she felt that anxiety stir again. 

"Oh Christ," the woman commiserated. "I'm sorry. Not a great night to break down."

"Tell me about it," Marie grieved.

The woman slipped off her stool and walked the short distance to where Marie stood.

"Look, I'm Treena and misery-guts back there is Logan." She smiled warmly, genuinely, and Marie felt her resolve weaken and her guard lower as some sixth sense convinced her that she could trust this woman.

"I'm Marie."

"Who were you gonna call? Breakdown?"

"Yeah. I'm a member of the AAA."

"Might take them a while to get here in this weather."

Marie shrugged gloomily. "I'll just have to wait, I s'pose."

A mischievous smirk suddenly tugged at Treena's scarlet lips and she gestured with a flick of her head to the man sat a short distance away. "Logan could always take a look at it for you."

Marie snapped her eyes onto the guy – Logan – and although he seemed mildly taken aback by Treena's suggestion he didn't appear annoyed.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose upon his time," she blurted. "The weather is awful out there."

"Nothing the mighty Wolverine can't handle." Treena shook her head in mock disbelief. "You Southern Belles are full of good manners, aint yer – put us northern girls to shame."

Marie felt herself blush. She didn't know what to say to that. At the same time she was puzzled as to why Treena had referred to Logan as the Wolverine.

"You won't be imposing on 'nothing, Marie," Treena insisted. She turned to Logan, the smirk returning. "Will she, Logan?"

Before he could answer Marie quickly intervened. "But I think it's the alternator," she pointed out hastily. "It's a very tricky part to reach."

Logan raised an eyebrow, amusement overpowering the genuine surprise on his face. "You know about mechanics?" he queried, and the sound of his voice – so low and husky - made Marie's throat go dry with anticipation.

She coloured even deeper. "No," she admitted awkwardly. "It's just that the same thing happened to my parent's car a few years back and it was the alternator then."

"Right," Logan returned and he sounded almost disappointed.

Treena shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt to take a look though, would it? It might not turn out to be the...alter-thingie, after all."

Logan grinned at his friend. "Alternator," he rescued and Marie was pleasantly surprised by the instant change to his countenance. All it took was a single smile to chase those dark shadows away. He was actually quite handsome, strange facial hair aside, she decided.

"Yeah – whatever," Treena laughed at herself.

Marie found herself laughing with her, realising that she was warming to the woman very quickly. She wasn't the sort Marie would have usually found herself enjoying a conversation with – the word tarty came to mind, which made her feel guilty, even a little snobby – but then tart with a heart quickly followed it, and Marie settled for that.

"So how's about it, Logan?" Treena prompted. "Are you gonna help this damsel in distress or are yer gonna go back to yer brooding?"

Brooding? Marie wondered what he might be brooding about and she suddenly had the feeling that those dark shadows, so evident on his face, would have quite a story to tell. Something tragic. She glanced at Logan and he seemed to subtly flinch from her gaze as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and the idea pained him.

At the realisation she felt her heart constrict. Yes. There was something... something tragic about Logan's whole persona. He didn't seem a man who intended for it to show, in fact, he looked the type who tried desperately hard to retain a hard impenetrable exterior, but whatever was eating away at him seemed too intense now to keep restrained inside.

"Yeah, I can take a look," he agreed, although his voice had taken on a rather gruff edge to it now, as if he was angry that Marie had managed to read him so well. And she was certain that she wasn't just clutching at straws, that her conclusion was right about him. So many looks had passed between them since she had first entered the bar; it was as if they were somehow communicating without words. It felt both scary and thrilling.

"Thank you," was all she could manage as their eyes locked again. But this time Logan stubbornly kept his blank of emotion, placing a mental wall between them, and it was he who finally severed their gaze as he quickly rose from his stool.

"Take me to it," he demanded vacantly. "And I'll see what I can do."

As he passed Treena he ruffled her hair light-heartedly. "Catch yer later, kid."

"Hey! Not the hair, Logan!" Treena protested, swiftly smoothing down the peroxide-blond layers. She twisted in her chair, following him with her gaze, eyes narrowing as she feigned irritation. "And stop calling me kid!"

Logan glanced back at her, eyebrow raised in mischief, before he turned his attention to Marie. "You comin'?"

Mind in a whirl from all that was happening, Marie slapped some notes down onto the bar counter for her drink, flashed Treena an appreciative if somewhat disorientated smile, and followed Logan out into the night.

******

Treena watched them exit the bar with a triumphant smile plastered upon her face. She didn't know exactly what had passed between Logan and that young woman, but she hadn't been blind, something had happened the moment they had locked eyes with one another across the bar.

She felt a little tingle of exhilaration coarse through her - and fuck, if it hadn't been something. She had literally seen the electric charge in the air, like static, sparking between them. If she didn't love Logan like a best friend she would've almost been jealous by what she had witnessed.

But she had moved on and accepted that she and Logan were never meant to be, and now simply cherished the fact that he trusted and cared for her enough to call her his friend. Ironically, being Logan's friend warmed her a whole lot more than being his lover ever did regardless of how good the sex had been. And that's why she had encouraged things along just now, just like a good friend would, knowing that Logan would never have approached the young woman no matter what he may have felt towards her. Would never have thought himself good enough for her.

But Treena had read those undercurrents. She might not be a mutant like him, but she did have certain gifts. She had known that something special was gonna happen between Logan and Marie and had immediately acted upon it. For Logan. Because his happiness meant more to her than anything else in the world.

She had a definite hunch that this sweet Southern belle was just what he was searching for. Just what he needed.

Her smile stretched into a smug grin. He owed her big time.

"You all alone tonight, gorgeous?"

Treena started and turned, her eyes widening with surprise when she realised that it was Logan's last fighting partner. The first guy, in a long time, who had very nearly defeated the Wolverine.

She gave him the once over, liking what she saw. He had been impressive in the cage tonight and although she had naturally been rooting for Logan, she had also found herself attracted to his opponent. "Might be," she flirted back, flicking her long blond hair over her shoulder and giving him her best sultry look.

"Buy you a drink?"

Never one to resist cage fighters, especially the good-looking ones, she felt the desire flare inside her. "You betcha-can, sweetheart."

He grinned and something flashed in his eyes that Treena found mildly disturbing, a tiny hint of madness that should've warned her to back off. But she had always been drawn to bad boys – Christ, that was what had first drawn her to Logan (although she had soon discovered that he wasn't such a bad boy after all) – and tonight was gonna be no exception.

The guy slipped onto Logan's stool and regarded the burnt out cigar and unfinished beer bottle suspiciously.

"Sure I'm not disturbing anything?"

Treena leant closer to him. "Nah. He won't be back tonight, you mark my words."

Pleased, he followed her lead, also moving in closer and claiming her stare. "Good." He had the strangest smell about him, not exactly unpleasant but rather potent. Garlic. That was it. He smelt of garlic.

An odour that most people would have found unappealing, Treena accepted, but for her, who had Greek relatives (although no one would believe it to look at her) and had spent many happy childhood holidays in Athens, it proved to be surprisingly nostalgic.

It also made him all the more appealing in her eyes, reminding her of the handsome Greek waiter she had lost her virginity to.

Logan wasn't the only one who had got lucky tonight, she decided as her eyes wandered over her new friend's rugged face.

****************

Logan stepped out into the bar car park, immediately zipping up his leather jacket and turning up the collar as the snowstorm swept around him. As Marie walked passed him and led him across to her vehicle, a very nice looking jeep, he realised that she hadn't been lying about the weather. It was quite a contrast to when he had first arrived at the bar several hours earlier.

Not a good night for a young woman like her to be stranded like this.

When she reached the jeep she stopped in her tracks, her back to him, before finally turning, her long hair dancing wildly around her face, whipped up by the wind. "I'll understand entirely if you want to forget it," she reassured softly, trying to drag the unruly strands from her eyes. "The weather really has turned nasty."

He shrugged and for a moment he was mesmerised by the sight of her. Moon-kissed snowflakes glistened like diamonds in her hair, whilst the biting cold sprinkled a rosy glow the length of her cheekbones that in turn brought out the youthful sparkle of her eyes. He felt his breath snag in his throat. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

"I'm out here now, might as well take a look," he finally managed, his own hair unable to escape a ravaging by the aggressive wind. He ran a hand through the disorderly strands in a fruitless attempt to tame them a bit. "You get inside and pop up the hood for me."

She nodded gratefully and he watched as she quickly unlocked the driver's door and slipped into the seat. A few seconds later he was able to prize up the hood and take a look inside, thankful that she was parked beside the only streetlamp in the car park.

His hands were practically numbed by the cold by the time he had finished fiddling around. Slamming down the hood he hurried around to the passenger side, wrenched open the door and pulled himself into the seat.

"I think you're right," he confessed as he vigorously rubbed some warmth back into his hands. "Can't see anything wrong with any of the assessable parts of the engine. Probably is the alternator."

Her eyes dropped down to his hands guiltily. "God, you're half frozen."

He shrugged, offering her a hint of a smile, secretly relishing her concern. "I'm used to it."

"I really appreciate you taking a look."

He nodded and turned to stare blankly out of the window, not sure what to say next. He had never been a man of many words.

"Guess I'll have to call the AAA after all."

"Yeah," he agreed regretfully. "Although -"

"Although?" she repeated softly and he felt her eyes boring into him.

He hesitated. He didn't want to lose her company so soon and his mind whirled for a way to remedy the situation.

He glanced at her, conscious of how close they were, of how her sweet scent was already overwhelming him. "I could..." he started and then his voice trailed off as he wondered whether this was a good idea. But the way she was looking at him, those beautiful brown eyes virtually imploring him to continue, he couldn't help himself. "...get you fixed up with a new alternator first thing in the morning." In truth, he wasn't sure if he could but it was worth a shot. "The AAA will probably do the same but there aint gonna be any garages open until tomorrow."

She sighed gently. "That had crossed my mind," she admitted, and Logan could detect the anxiety overpowering her scent. "That they wouldn't be able to fix anything themselves."

"Where were you headed?" he found himself asking.

"A motel." She looked at him hopefully. "It's about twenty kilometres from here."

"Can I make a suggestion?" This was it, he prepared himself. Time to see whether that look they had exchanged had meant anything to her too.

She nodded and he sensed a further change to her scent. She was nervous. That might be a good sign. He frowned slightly. Or it might not. He realised that her answer to his next question could result in him losing her forever.

"Leave the jeep here," he started, voice gravelly and tense as his own nervousness seeped through his attempt at a tough exterior, betraying the true man within. "Let me drive you to your motel." His hazel eyes wandered over her face trying to cover his urgency with an air of casualness. "We can return in the morning and you can either call out the AAA then or you can let me tow it to the nearest garage for you."

"Yes," she gushed, before he had barely finished his sentence, and their eyes locked once more.

Logan felt elated – her answer speaking volumes – and his body heaved with relief... and something else...a glimmer of optimism? He hadn't felt like this in a long time. In fact, he had forgotten what it felt like to feel...happy? Yet this woman had been in his life for less than twenty minutes and already he was feeling the misery he felt earlier begin to lift from him like a dispelling mist.

He pushed aside his fears. Doubts that warned him that he was clutching at straws...that such a woman would never be attracted to someone like him...that he was creating illusions that weren't really there...

Because whatever the truth might be, it didn't change the simple fact that he could sit watching her in this uncomfortably cold jeep like this forever, oblivious to the snow plummeting the windows or the wind whistling noisily across the roof. It didn't matter anymore that he was cold because she was filling him with a warmth that felt...felt so good.

"Thank you, Logan," she said softly - even the sound of her speaking his name was like an instant drug to his senses - and he was shaken to realise that he wanted to hear her say it in a completely different way. Over and over again...

"No problem," he finally managed, but still he couldn't summon the energy or desire to move from this spot, from this perfect moment.

She seemed to sense his predicament, even seemed to be experiencing the same thing herself and he suddenly had to fight the urge to reach across, cup her face in his hands and kiss her.

"Logan?" she prompted and he finally came to his senses.

He turned reluctantly to the door and reached for the handle. "Grab yer stuff and follow me."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three – Dark Shadows and Omens

 

"It's over here."

Logan led Marie across to the other side of the car park where his vehicle, a rather beat up looking camper van, was half buried in the snow. She regarded it as enthusiastically as her wind-numbed face would allow, not wanting to appear as if she might be looking down at it.

"I know it aint much to look at" Logan apologised, seeming to read her thoughts. "But it gets me from A to B without too much hassle."

Marie noticed there was a covered bike in the trailer behind. "You're a biker"

Her words appeared to humour him. "I ride a bike, yeah."

She smiled gently. "I can see you as a biker. It kinda fits."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Fits"

She shrugged. "I dunno...the leather jacket and all..." She cringed inwardly, realising how dumb that sounded.

"Right" he returned blankly, although there remained an undercurrent of amusement lingering in his tone. Despite this, she groaned beneath her breath. She really did say the most stupid things sometimes. As if wearing a leather jacket would automatically make someone a biker!

"Shall we..." he gestured to the camper van and she realised that she was talking a load of nonsense whilst they were slowly freezing to death.

"Sorry," she offered sheepishly and quickly pulled open the passenger door and hauled herself into the seat, dragging her large holdall bag behind her.

As he slipped into the driver's seat she tried to make herself comfortable, which was difficult with a large bag wedged between her feet.

"You can put that in the back if you like."

Her grateful eyes followed his motioning thumb but she was immediately taken aback by the state of the small living area behind them. She mentally kicked herself when she let out a tiny gasp of shock.

The shadows rushed back into his face as he snapped his gaze onto her. "What?"

She swallowed uncomfortably. "Nothing."

He looked angry as he roughly reached across her thighs, grabbed her bag and frostily deposited it in the living area.

"Logan...I'm not...not judging you," she insisted firmly.

He sighed remorsefully as he dropped back into his seat. "Yeah...yeah, I know you're not." He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Truth is, I know it's a shit-hole." He shrugged, resignedly. "I don't use it much, yer'see. Tend to stick with motels."

Marie forced a smile, wanting to chase those shadows from his face again. "It's..." her mind raced for the right word. "It's cosy." 

He laughed quietly, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, right."

She let out a breath of relief, glad that they had cleared the air and happy to see him smiling again. She liked the smiling Logan. The shadowed Logan made her hurt inside. Made her want to rage at whatever demons had turned him that way.

But when he was preoccupied with starting the engine she couldn't help but sneak a final look back behind her. At the clothes hanging in haphazard indifference from the basic fittings, at the empty beer bottles and cigar butts littering the floor. And when she saw the thin mattress lying in one corner of the room with a rather threadbare blanket and pillow, her heart all but wept.

This was Logan's sad little world?

"Where we headed?"

His voice wrenched her back to the front of the van and she blinked back her tears. "The Red Wood Motel" she answered shakily, hurriedly trying to compose herself.

He nodded and manoeuvred his way carefully through the snow and out of the car park onto the town road.

"You know it?" Marie asked, although not altogether surprised, assuming that he must be familiar with the area.

"Yeah. Was intending to head out there myself after a few drinks."

Marie felt a stab of guilt. "I hope I haven't spoilt your evening."

As he pulled out onto the highway he looked at her as if she was mad to even think such a thing. His words were a little more restrained however. "You haven't," he stated bluntly.

Marie indulged herself with a waver of a satisfied smile.

"Treena's nice," she blurted, before she could stop herself. "Is she your -"

He turned his attentions back to the road. "She's a friend," he reacted sharply, and Marie guessed that he had known what she was about to ask. "A good friend," he added quietly, his tone softening apologetically.

Marie felt relieved by this knowledge although she realised that her expectations were not only a little high but very presumptuous. Just because Treena wasn't his girlfriend, it didn't necessarily mean that he was single. He wasn't wearing a wedding ring but a good-looking guy like him couldn't have been short of admirers.

She sighed gently. Don't even go there, Marie, she warned herself. Not only had she only just met the guy, she doubted he'd be interested in someone like her, regardless of that look they had exchanged. And if he knew she was a mutant...well...she didn't even want to dare stray down 'that' path.

Emptying her mind of anything Logan-girlfriend related she lent back in her seat as the camper van began to warm up, the heat feeling delicious as it drifted across to her feet and rose up her jean-clad legs.

"Warm enough?"

"Yeah," she murmured contentedly, unable to resist closing her eyes. She had been unbearably cold since the jeep had broken down, even in the bar, and it felt so good to thaw out at last. It was only now that she realised how tired she was. It had been a long day.

"Mind if I smoke?"

"No," Marie replied sleepily, eyes still closed. "Go ahead. I like the smell of cigars." This was no lie either. Her grandfather, a man she had adored as a child and who had sadly died long before her mutation had kicked in, had smoked them all the time and now she always associated the smell of cigar smoke with happier times. Times when she was normal. Just Marie. Not Marie-the-mutant.

He lit up and she watched him take a deep, appreciative drag, mesmerised by how relaxed his actions were, how calming. When he lazily released a cloud of dark grey smoke into the cab she unconsciously inhaled in an attempt to draw some of it in, hoping that she might pick up a trace of him amongst the minute particles.

"What is it with women and cigar smoke?" he declared unexpectedly into the silence, his voice thick with innuendo.

Marie felt the colour creep into her cheeks realising that her inhale must have been less than discreet. "I don't know what you're implying but it reminds me of my grandfather," she set him straight.

"'I remind you of your grandfather?" he exclaimed, a little put out.

Marie grinned. "Hardly. He was about twice your size and, let me put it this way, it wasn't muscle." Her face lit up with affection and precious memories. "He made a perfect Santa Claus though."

Logan moved the cigar to the corner of his mouth and flashed her a curious look. "What's a woman like you doin' in the middle of Canada, in this kinda weather?"

"Enjoying the snow," she teased.

He frowned. "C'mon, seriously. You in some kinda trouble?"

The very idea seemed ludicrous yet perversely exciting and it frustrated her what a sheltered life she had lived up until now. She was twenty-one and had seen and done nothing of consequence, nothing to define her as an individual. "Do I look as if I am?" But as she watched Logan she wondered if things were about to change. Drastically.

He glanced back at the road. "Not really." He shrugged. "Well, just car trouble."

"I'm taking a trip," she finally announced, a sparkle of pride glistening through her words. "I've wanted to explore Canada since I was old enough to understand a map. A childhood dream, you could say. I would've visited sooner but..." she quickly stopped herself, realising how easy it was for her to forget her situation, even after all this time. No way was she admitting to being a mutant. Not with how things were in the world right now. She didn't think Logan was one of those obsessive mutant haters but she still felt it in her best interests to be on her guard.

"But?" he pressed.

"Things just sort of got in the way."

"Is it wise to be travelling alone?" he persisted. "You just don't know who you're gonna meet on the road. What psychos are out there. It aint safe."

What he was implying touched a nerve. "I can take care of myself," she snapped, harsher than she intended and she promptly calmed herself. "Besides, I've met you. Are _you_ a psycho?"

"Only when I'm hungry," he joked dryly.

They exchanged smiles; at least hers was a smile. His was more of a lopsided grin as his mouth wrestled to keep hold of his cigar.

For a while there was a restful silence between them and Marie was surprised by how safe she felt around Logan. It seemed odd that a man so rough, and even dangerous looking, could make her feel that way. He could've been a psycho for all she knew but that obliging sixth-sense of hers kept reassuring her otherwise. She had never felt at much risk whilst travelling anyway because of her mutation – it did have one advantage at least - but with Logan the feeling at ease came naturally, felt almost familiar.

But as pleasant as the moment was, she was also aware that The Red Wood Motel wouldn't be too long away now. If Logan went straight to his motel room she wouldn't see him again until the morning.

"Can I ask you something, Logan?" she started as she sat up straighter in her seat and turned to watch him chew absently down upon his cigar.

She noticed him frown restlessly as he continued to stare out the window into the night. "Shoot."

"Treena called you Wolverine. What did she mean?"

He tugged the cigar from his lips and gripped it between his fingers as his hand rested upon the steering wheel. "It's my cage name."

"Cage name?"

He glanced across at her. "Ever heard of cage fightin'?'"

"Yeah," she confirmed, somewhat apprehensively. "Two men beat the crap out of each other in a large cage for money." She stared at him as realisation dawned. "That's what you do"

"That's what I do best, darlin'"

It wasn't the fact that he called her darling that disappointed her, it was the way his voice took on this self-mocking, almost self-loathing tone, like he was being defensive the only way he knew how. His whole persona changed in the blink of an eye and the Logan she had just been chatting so pleasantly with seemed to suddenly retreat within himself.

She ran sad eyes over his profile; his jaw set rigidly tight, his frown stubbornly intent on darkening his handsome face again. He became a man weighted with a million conflicts and she had no idea what any of them were.

Overwhelmed with the need to know – to know his secrets – she couldn't stop herself from reaching out to him.

"Why do you hate yourself so much?" she whispered, her heart beginning to race, fearing his reaction to her bold statement.

She noticed the jaw set tighter, the frown deepen further, and he took so long to answer that she thought he never would.

"I don't hate myself," he finally breathed, voice strong and resolute, but in his next breath that strength wavered and crumbled like rock into sand. "I hate who I've become."

Marie gaped at him. She had never been so affected by someone before. So moved. And so terribly pained.

"Then be someone else," she dared, ignoring that voice in her head telling her that she had gone too far and instead choosing to believe that perhaps Logan actually needed someone to step over that line.

He turned slowly to face her, and even though his look was fleeting it seem to last an eternity. "I don't know how to anymore."

His words were heart-wrenching enough, but his eyes, so full of anguish, scorched like fire into her memory and she knew the image would never fade away. That she would see them in dreams – and nightmares.

She chewed down upon her lip, fighting back the tears again, realising that she had known this man less than an hour and he had already found the way to her heart. The straws she had initially feared she was clutching suddenly became more solid, more defined. She had always believed in fate and she truly believed that it was working now. That it had purposely brought her and Logan together.

She felt a little queasy. What was happening? Where was this night heading?

"Logan..." His name slipped from her lips for no reason other than the overwhelming desire to hear it spoken aloud, and with no idea of the words that would follow it; she doubted there even were any. Her heart was thudding in her ears so loudly she felt positive that he could hear it too.

She noticed him grip the steering wheel tighter, so tightly that his knuckles turned disturbingly white. She stared down at them in horror, not knowing why the sight of them affected her so intensely.

"I'm a lost cause, Marie," he growled bitterly, warningly, but she was no longer deterred by his animosity.

"No one is a lost cause," she protested gently, whilst at the same time the sound of him speaking her name for the first time made butterflies dance in her stomach.

She intended to say more but just at that moment the neon lights of The Red Wood Motel came into view and Logan was pulling off the highway into it's car park. She felt a spark of panic flare within her, realising that it was over. That it was too late now to say everything she wanted to say to the torn man beside her.

It couldn't end like this. With those closing words. She wouldn't let it.

But she did. And she hated herself for it.

As he killed the engine she unclipped her seatbelt, reached for her holdall and followed him from the camper van and reluctantly out into night's raw embrace.

She realised that it had stopped snowing but the fact did little to console her. Allowing Logan to lead her across to the motel's reception she glanced, once more, at the full moon - The Wolf Moon - the crater-face seeming to gloat now, as if it knew full well of Logan's demons and was relishing every second.

She found herself lingering, eyes narrowed, determined to wipe that smug smile right off its fat face.

She was so preoccupied in planning crazy vendettas that she was unaware that Logan had also stopped and was now watching her strangely. "You all right, kid?" He followed her stare up to the glowing sphere and his features seemed to brighten for a few precious moments. "Impressive moon tonight," he remarked gently, and Marie was relieved to note that the pleasant Logan was back.

"Wolf Moon," she revealed with a shiver and it shocked her to acknowledge that the initial awe she had felt only a few hours earlier was now completely gone. Like someone had sucked the sentiment right out of her. Instead it had been replaced with a warning, cautioning her that it was not, in fact, a marvel to be revered but a bad omen to be heeded.

"Huh?" He flicked his eyes onto her.

"It's called The Wolf Moon. At least during January."

"That some Indian lore?"

She nodded nervously.

He glanced back at the moon again and for a second she was convinced that she saw a suggestion of uneasiness sneak into his own features. But he swiftly turned and began to continue his journey towards the motel.

She hurried to catch up with him. "Logan..."

"Yeah"

"You're not a lost cause, you know."

He offered her an empty smile. "Not quite," he relented, as he crunched slowly through the snow. "But close enough."

******

They were to be neighbours, it turned out, after money had exchanged hands and they were given keys to their motel rooms. Marie wanted to pay for his room as a thank you for all his help but he insisted that it might be going a bit heavy on the generosity and settled for her buying him a burger at the diner opposite the motel instead.

It had transpired that they were both starving and Marie had joked that she didn't want him turning into that hungry psycho he had warned her about. So, they had arranged to meet up again in half an hour's time, after they had settled into their rooms and scrubbed up a bit.

Logan sat on the edge of the bed, hands hanging loosely down between his thighs, eyes focused attentively on the wall that divided them. He didn't need his heightened senses to pick up the sound of her shower, the barrier between them obscenely thin, and he felt his groin tighten as erotic images of her lathering up invaded his senses. He hadn't been able to make out much of her body beneath that heavy coat of hers but he imagined it would be just as beautiful as her face, with curves in all the right places. He groaned painfully as the crotch of his jeans became unbearably tight and he finally decided it might be a good idea to have a shower himself – preferably a cold one.

He wanted her, that much was obvious, but she was different to the other women he had been attracted too. So very different. She was soft whereas they were hard; she was natural whereas most of them were as fake as their silicone chests. Like Treena, she was someone special, whereas all his other liaisons had been just about fulfilling a primal need - to fuck.

He frowned as he used the motel's cheap smelling shampoo to wash his hair. There could be no denying the attraction between them, that inexplicable pull that had been set in motion the moment they had laid eyes on one another, but she was definitely no liaison...yet. Nor did he want to rush into anything. One wrong move could ruin everything. Shatter his hopes.

Hopes?

What was he hoping?

Soap slipped into his eye and before it could attack him with more than a brief sting his healing factor kicked in to counteract it. The fact that his mutation would make itself known in the most simple of ways irritated him, like it never wanted to let him forget that he was a mutant. A freak of nature. Worst than a freak of nature because man had also added his own twisted contribution.

As if he hadn't already been fucked up enough, he swore in a flare of anger.

He scrunched his eyes shut, shaking his head dismissively. Old news. He had been down this road too many times. Too many fuckin' times...

Anger dissipating, he wondered what Marie's views on the Mutant Problem might be. Would she hate him if she knew the truth? Would she be filled with revulsion? Or did that gentle and compassionate nature of hers run completely skin deep? One hundred percent genuine? He had been knocked back so many times he really didn't know who to trust anymore. Appearances could deceive. Even ones with doe-like brown eyes and manes of gorgeous silky chestnut hair.

Leaning back his head he rinsed away the mass of suds, feeling them slide lazily down his back, the tepid water making him shiver.

It was too late now, he accepted. Deceiving or not, he had to have her. The Wolverine inside was already demanding it, desperate to claim her, take her as his mate.

Mate? Logan hadn't even considered that far ahead. For the first time ever he was not simply focusing on sex. He was thinking...long term?

His head fell forward, water cascading down his face in tiny erratic rivers, into his eyes, his mouth, down his heaving chest...

It was crazy and irrational but he knew that he couldn't let her go in the morning.

Couldn't let her walk out of his life as quickly as she had entered it.


	4. Chapter 4

Reviews soooo appreciated, thanks!

 

Chapter Four – Nightmares and Revelations

Twenty minutes later Logan found himself knocking on Marie's motel room door. The action felt decidedly odd, almost as if he was about to go out on a date. In this case, that dreaded first date. The Wolverine inside balked at the idea – he didn't do dates. Even so, Logan had scrubbed up as best he could. Washed the bar-smoke from his hair and the sweat from his body; put on a clean vest beneath his layers of t-shirts, flannel and leather.

But when she opened the door and flashed him one of those alluring smiles of hers he almost wished it was a date. No longer wrapped in that huge heavy coat of hers he could finally see her properly, and she didn't disappoint, her tight jeans emphasising deliciously curvaceous hips whilst her modestly tight emerald green sweater blatantly advertised the womanly delights beneath.

Curves definitely in all the right places.

Her face seemed more striking too, although he wasn't sure what one thing made it so. It could've been that she looked simply refreshed and naturally flushed from her recent shower. She had obviously washed her hair; he could smell the sweet citrus smelling shampoo – definitely not the motel brand – and he had earlier heard a hair-dryer hum through the thin wall, although a hint of dampness still lingered amongst the silky strands, which he found surprisingly sexy. She didn't appear to have a scrap of make-up on, which came as a pleasant contrast to the bar-flies that usually hung around him after a fight. He even wished Treena would tone it down a bit sometimes, feeling that her make-up spoilt rather than flattered her looks.

Again, he was mesmerised by the beauty before him and if she hadn't have spoken he would've probably been content to stand there gawking at her all night.

"Bang on time," she congratulated, snapping him back to reality.

What he wanted to say was: 'Got a few issues with time so I always like to keep one step ahead.' Instead he shrugged dismissively. "Always been a good time keeper."

She peered out into the night warily. "Think I need my coat?"

"Nah, it's only a short walk."

Nodding, she stepped out of her room, locked the door behind her and they began to make their way across to the diner.

"God, it's so still," she remarked wistfully, looking about her at the newly settled snow. "So beautiful."

He smiled, watching her. "This is nothin'. You wait 'til you really get out into the wilderness."

"I plan to see it all," she vowed, a spark of enthusiasm igniting in her eyes, and he had a sudden longing to show her it personally.

"You won't be disappointed," he promised and he felt his heart ache for the only place he truly thought of as home.

She wrapped her arms around her. "No - just freezing," she joked, but she followed it with a despairing sigh. "I'm really determined to hack this cold, I really am. Won't let it beat me."

He frowned. Perhaps he should have suggested she bring a coat after all. A Southern girl like her was sure to be sensitive to this type of weather. He couldn't resist reaching across and wrapping an arm around her, pulling her close.

After her initial shock she sank willingly, if a little shyly, into his embrace and he was pleased to note that her scent did not betray any fear, only contentment...and a hint of...he took a discreet breath of anticipation...arousal.

So under the circumstances the diner loomed far too quickly for his liking and he regarded it menacingly, blaming it on the fact that she had pulled out of his arms to reach for the entrance door.

The place was virtually empty, the waitress, a plump pretty young girl, leaning over the counter reading a glossy fashion magazine. Her face pricked up when they entered and she flashed them a genuine smile. "Take a seat. I'll be right with you."

He followed Marie to a corner booth and it came as no surprise that it was beside a large hissing radiator. They slipped into seats opposite one another.

"Don't forget – I'm paying," she insisted determinedly and Logan loved her ballseyness. For a timid looking thing she could be real sassy and the combination appealed to him. It made him wonder what she might be like in bed. He doubted she'd be boring. The idea excited him in more ways than one.

"I have quite an appetite, you know. Could cost ya a lot," he warned teasingly, aware that she seemed able to draw out his humorous side more than most. But then he realised that it wasn't so much humour as plain old flirting. Christ, since when did the Wolverine flirt?

"You haven't seen me eat yet, sugar," she countered but her grin immediately deflated and he saw pain rush across her face.

He frowned, alarmed by her sudden change. "Hey?" he demanded gently. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head weakly, unable to answer, and stared out of the window instead unable to look him in the eye.

"Marie," he persisted. "Tell me what's wrong." He intended to reach across for her hand but ended up resting his palm an inch or so from it. "Christ, I've dealt you enough of my shit up until now."

She snapped her gaze back onto him and he forced a smile. "Treena didn't call me a miserable-guts for nothin' yer know."

She let out a half sob, half laugh, but tears were still pricking at her eyes. "I always called him sugar."

"Who?"

"David." She took a deep breath. "My boyfriend...fiancé."

Logan was relieved that she was talking about him in the past sense. "He run out on ya?" he growled and it made him wonder if a break up could be the real reason behind this trip of hers.

She finally met his eyes once more. "No," she returned quietly. "He was...was killed...in a car accident."

He watched her uncomfortably, her words the last thing he had expected. He knew that nothing he said would – could – ease her pain. That it was best to say as little as possible. "I'm sorry, Marie," he consoled, voice jagged and throaty. He felt bad for assuming that the guy had run out on her. After all, what guy in their right minds would run out on this beautiful creature?

"It was a year ago...I've...I've accepted it now." She peered down at the menu in front of her, an idle finger tracing the fancy lettering on the cover. She finally glanced back up at Logan again. "But the little reminders...the little slips...like me calling you sugar like that..."

He nodded his understanding but at the same time felt the biggest, most selfish sorry-for-himself bastard ever to have walked this rotten earth and wished she had said something when he had been ranting on in the camper van. Just told him to shut the fuck up.

He felt even more of a selfish bastard when he was overwhelmed by a surge of relief when the waitress approached their booth, interrupting the strained moment.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

Logan would've liked another beer. "I'll have a black coffee."

"Chocolate milkshake," Marie requested quietly, struggling with a smile and as the waitress walked away with their order he knew he needed to lighten the moment. He hated seeing Marie like this. Her pain became his pain.

"Milkshake?" he ribbed.

"You're never to old for a milkshake," she returned, her cheerier self slowly returning. "And my mother always drummed into me about drinking plenty of calcium, said it built strong bones."

Her comment touched a nerve. My bones are strong enough, he thought bitterly, and he was conscious of his nostrils flaring. Aloud he was a little more tactful, however. "I think I'll stick with coffee."

Smiling she peered down at her menu again, eventually opening it to view its contents. Logan continued to watch her, eyes wandering down her long lowered lashes to those full lips that he noticed she had a tendency to chew provocatively when deep in concentration. His gaze wandered lower, to the swell of her chest but there he stopped himself, not wanting her to catch him staring, and forced himself to concentrate on his own menu.

The waitress returned not long afterwards with their drinks and after they had given her their orders there was a few minutes of strained silence. For him it was because he had never been one for small talk. Or even medium talk, come to that. He guessed that for her, it might still have something to do with being upset about David.

"Warm enough?" he blurted, for something – anything - to say.

She laughed gently and her smile came as a welcome relief. "You already asked that on the journey down."

He felt his face heat up a little beneath his mutton-chops. "Oh, right, yeah. Sorry." Nice going, Logan, he despaired as he stared moodily down into his coffee.

"That's OK. I appreciate your concern. I'm great – the radiator is lovely and toasty." She gestured happily to the large metallic contraption.

His eyes rose. "I thought that might have been the reason why you chose this booth."

"I'll be honest," she confessed. "This cold is a lot harder to hack than I thought it would be."

"Layers and brandy."

She regarded him in amusement. "I beg your pardon?"

He hadn't heard that expression in a long time and wondered if all Southern Belles were as polite as her. Her words were like honey to his senses after the trashy banter he was always experiencing on the fight circuit. And that was just the women. "Lots of layers and swigs of brandy," he repeated. "Works for me."

"Not a good idea whilst I'm driving," she pointed out. "At least not the brandy."

Not everyone has a healing factor like you, bub, he reminded himself, and he sighed, wondering why he was bothering. Why he was even making the effort. She probably thought he was a dumb ass.

He must've been making a face because she immediately reached across to his hand, like he did hers earlier. "Hey, don't look like that," she soothed. "I'm just not very good with alcohol. I get drunk very easily.

But unlike his earlier gesture, she actually touched his hand. Just a fleeting caress but it was enough to make him flinch in surprise. His gaze flicked onto hers as the strange feeling that had been lingering in his stomach since the first moment he laid eyes on her, suddenly intensified.

She quickly withdrew her hand, mistaking his reaction for annoyance. "Sorry. I..."

"No -" he cut in urgently. "Don't be." He shot his hand back across to hers so that their fingertips touched chastely. "Don't be sorry."

"Two orders of burgers and fries."

Logan growled beneath his breath as they quickly pulled back their hands to make way for their meals. Fuck, that waitress had the most god-awful timing! She seemed to sense as much and looked at him apologetically, if a little nervously.

"Thanks," he returned gruffly and after slapping their bill on the table she swiftly turned and high-tailed it back to her counter.

"Timing," Marie despaired, although her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and Logan wondered what had been the cause – them touching or them being interrupted.

"Yeah," he agreed, frustratedly.

Marie smiled feebly at him, and Logan thought he could detect disappointment in her expression. "Let's eat," she suggested softly.

*****

"Logan, wait."

As they stepped out of the diner and into the night once more Logan was surprised to find Marie stopping him.

He frowned at her questioningly. "What?"

She grinned and although she appeared a little hesitant she finally moved nearer to him, shocking him by reaching her hand to his face. "You've got a bit of ketchup on your chin." As she tentatively wiped it away with her finger he relished the closeness of her and it wasn't until she had moved away again that he realised that he had been holding his breath.

What was it about this woman that was making him feel like a nervous schoolboy, he wondered, perplexed? But the thought proved to be bittersweet when he accepted that he didn't even know what he had been like as a kid so had little basis for comparison.

"Thanks," he said, rather sheepishly. Great bub! Just walk around with ketchup on your chin. Make everyone's day!

She laughed quietly. "Anytime."

Anytime? Logan wished to God that were true. That she would be there anytime...all the time...with him. And only him. How could he make that happen without scaring her away though? Right now all he wanted to do was lift her up into his arms, kick open his motel room door and make love to her. Not fuck her or have sex with her but make proper love to her. He didn't think he had ever done that before. Not in the lifetime he knew, at least.

They walked silently through the snow back to the motel. Marie made no indication of being cold this time so he made no move to get closer to her. He decided that it might be wiser anyway. Especially considering the fact that they were heading back to their rooms.

At Marie's door they hesitated, standing to face one another. Logan rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, not sure what to say. Nothing new there. The meal at the diner had been a dizzying fluctuation between mild flirtation and awkward moments of strained silence. The fact that the place had been virtually empty of customers had actually made it worse. Logan had been conscious of the waitress discreetly listening in to their every word and he was sure that Marie had sensed it too. In the end he felt that they had both been relieved to get the hell out of the place.

"I s'pose this is goodnight then," she announced, regretfully.

"Yeah."

She hugged herself with her arms, the cold appearing to affect her now. "What time do you want to set off back to the bar tomorrow?"

Logan's mind raced for a time. "Eight too early for yer?" 

"Eight would be...great," she grinned, but he could see something other than humour glinting in her eyes. He recognised it straight away. Had seen it enough times in the smoky eyes of the bar-flies that approached him.

Desire.

He knew then that he could take her so easily. That she would be willing and wanting. The Wolverine knew it too and Logan had to fight harder than ever before to keep him reigned.

It proved a challenge to keep himself restrained if he was to be totally honest, because fuck if he didn't want her too. Logan and the Wolverine didn't agree on a lot of things but they shared common ground where Marie was concerned. He wanted her so bad it was like a physical pain. But that word kept sweeping through his mind – long term.

Don't fuck this up, Logan, he warned. There was too much to lose. Too much at stake. And he knew – he just knew – that a classy woman like her would regret it in the morning. Might believe that he had taken advantage of her.

"Goodnight then, Marie." It took every last shred of self-control he possessed to turn around and reach for his own door.

Her disappointment was unmistakable, her scent saturated with rejection. "Goodnight, Logan." 

***************

Marie couldn't wait to get into her motel room. Throwing herself down upon the bed she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling frowning her frustration.

Did he want her or didn't he? He was running frustratingly hot and cold. Sending out so many mixed signals that her mind was in a whirl. Maybe she had somehow misread all those looks, just created the illusion of him desiring her because she was missing the closeness of being with someone. It had been a year since David had died, after all, and the nature of her mutation made her crave intimacy more than most. She knew that she shouldn't want Logan so soon, so quickly after meeting him but she couldn't help it. She wanted him so bad it hurt. Physically hurt.

And that little voice in her head still kept insisting that it was meant to be.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. Stop acting like a lovesick teenager, Marie, she admonished. There was a time and a place for dreams, and now was not one of them. Logan was not David. In fact he was so far removed from David that he could've almost come from another planet entirely.

She chewed down upon her plump lip. The problem was, that only seemed to make Logan all the more irresistible to her. The more time she spent with him the more he slipped under her skin. And unable to stop them, erotic images sneaked their way in alongside every mannerism, every expression, every frown – images of him naked on top of her, muscular body glistening with sweat as he caged her between his arms, his mouth devouring her lips, her neck, her breasts, making her moan and whimper beneath him...

She angrily shook the images away realising that they were only making things worst. Dragging herself from the bed she stormed through to the bathroom wanting nothing more than to clean her teeth and sleep away the dejection that had gathered around her.

****

She woke with a start in the middle of the night, initially disorientated by her strange surroundings, something that still hadn't worn off two weeks into her vacation. After gathering her senses she realised that she had been disturbed by strange noises – muffled sounds coming from the direction of Logan's room.

Concerned, she stared at the wall as mumbles and moans filtered in through the thin divide that separated them and it dawned on her that he was having a nightmare. Sitting up in bed she hugged her knees to her chest and waited anxiously, hoping for him to wake up, but it soon became apparent that he didn't seem able to. Instead, his moans began to get louder, more intense and she suddenly became alarmed – what if he wasn't dreaming? What if he was hurt?

Allowing herself no time to consider her actions, she quickly slipped out of bed, into her dressing gown and, going against her better judgement, out of her motel room.

The night was as still, as silent and as cold as the grave, the frozen air sweeping gleefully around her inadequately clothed body and making her shiver as she knocked gently on his door.

"Logan?" She wasn't entirely surprised when she got no response. Although she guessed it would probably be a fruitless endeavour she reached down for the doorknob checking to see if his door was locked or not.

She gasped. It wasn't. But she put it down to the fact that men simply had less need for caution than women on the road and that someone looking like Logan had even less call for it than most men.

She cautiously entered the shadowed room and sure enough he was thrashing around in the bed, covers dishevelled, having been unconsciously wrenched from the upper half of his body as he fought the angry throes of a nightmare.

It pained her to watch him, his face so full of distress, horribly contorted in some kind of physical agony as he wrestled with whatever inner demons were taunting him. She shivered and it wasn't only due to the cold, wondering what dreams could possibly be so terrible that they could reduce a man like Logan into this?

The fact that he was bare-chested sent a surge of longing through her body but she suppressed her emotions and slowly approached the bed. Moving around to the left side she leaned in closer to him.

"Logan?"

She reached out a hand and tapped him ever so gently on his shoulder. He was drenched in sweat; his body slick with it, even his dark hair glistened with dampness as it plastered his furrowed brow.

"Logan, wake up," she begged desperately. Applying slightly more pressure to her tap she told herself that if he didn't wake up this time she would have to switch the light on.

"Logan, please..."

But to her shock he did wake up. He woke with an almighty roar, as if intent on attacking some mystery assailant, his body jerking violently up into a sitting position, spraying tiny beads of sweat across the bed. At the same time, and much to Marie's horror, six long claws ruptured through the flesh of his bare hands in a stomach churning schnick.

She let out a strangled scream as her eyes locked in terrified fascination onto them, as the nightmarish metallic protrusions glinted dangerously in the half-light. Breath lodging in her throat threatening to choke her, she stumbled back across the worn carpet until she slammed hard into the wall, knocking the wind out of herself.

Logan swept a startled gaze around to stare at her, tendrils of sweat soaked hair hanging down in front of eyes that were wild and haunted. Chest heaving with laboured breaths, at first he didn't seem to know who she was, but then a glimmer of recognition flitted into his face. As it grew, so did his own shock of the situation.

Yet Marie's fears quickly dissolved away, knowledge and understanding a sweet elixir upon her tongue, warming her heart when she knew any normal humans would have probably fled the room screaming by now.

But she wasn't normal. Neither was Logan – she knew that now. He was like her. He was a mutant. They were mutants.

One and the same.

Pulse racing, no longer through alarm but now with nervous excitement, she boldly approached him. "You're one too," she stated simply, voice little more than a whisper but filled with wonder and delight. Literally on autopilot she climbed mechanically onto the bed, reaching for his hands to study them more intently, Logan seeming too stunned by her actions to protest.

She sought out his eyes although continued to cradle his hands in hers, relishing the feel of his warm skin against hers. "You're a mutant too."

Although he remained somewhat bewildered, his breathing began to regulate as his body calmed once more and he managed to nod mutely. He looked both anxious and relieved, the emotions seeming at odds with one another, neither able to strengthen enough to gain the upper hand.

Marie peered down at his claws again. They intrigued rather than frightened her now. She dared to reach out to tentatively brush the top of the nearest blade with the tip of her finger and to her astonishment found that instead of the normal coolness of metal, it was, in fact, warm, and there even seemed to be the sensation of a pulse resonating through it. She sensed Logan's eyes burning into her, heard him grasp for an intake of breath and she quickly withdrew her finger and snapped her gaze back onto his face.

"When they come out," she asked urgently. "Does it...does it hurt?"

She saw his throat lift and fall as he swallowed uncomfortably disturbing several beads of sweat that had been clinging to his heated skin. Their paths were steered into the dark groove of his neck before melding into one and running down his broad chest.

"Every time," he answered bitterly and he promptly retracted the blades making her jump, his flesh healing over like new almost immediately. She was relieved to see that the last remnants of his nightmare seemed to have fled. That Logan was himself again.

His dark eyes claimed hers, and Marie was hypnotised by the fire raging within them. It revived her own desire, made it flame and she let out a soft moan as he reached across to sweep his hand around her neck, quivering as his fingers slipped through her hair and behind her head to draw her closer to him.

"Logan..." she whimpered, her heart racing fiercely.

"Shhhhhhh," he silenced.

As he brushed his lips across hers she was already drunk with so much anticipation that even such a light touch seemed to ignite every single nerve ending in her body. She had never experienced a feeling like it. Not even with David. It felt amazing. As if her entire soul was on fire. Closing her eyes she moved with him, already addicted to the heat of his mouth, impatient for all he had to offer, everything his kiss promised.

He suddenly pulled away from her, bringing a hand up to tenderly caress her face as he continued to ravage her with his eyes. "Marie..." he growled possessively. "Fuck, I want you so bad."

"Then take me," she demanded breathlessly, hating being deprived of his kiss. "Please, Logan..." Kneeling opposite him, she mirrored his actions, bringing her own hand up to his face, running shaking fingers up through the soft hair of his mutton-chops. "I need you."

He let out a groan as he enveloped her in his arms, crushing her against him as if frightened of losing her should he ever let her go. Lowering his head his lips claimed hers again, devouring her mouth so feverishly, so desperately, that she could no longer think straight, could no longer concentrate on anything but the delicious sensations sweeping through her.

As their bodies entwined and explored neither were aware of the single sliver of voyeuristic moonlight penetrating through the crack in the curtains adding it's own burning caress, nor did they notice that for a few seconds that light was gutted as a dark shadow slowly passed by the window.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five – Proposals and Heartbreak

Logan couldn't sleep. He was too hyped up to sleep. He was in new territory. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt…well…happy. He was on such a high that he was itching to burst from the motel, allow the dark, snow-covered trees to swallow him up and howl his joy into the night. Straight at the Wolf Moon that Marie seemed so enamoured of.

He turned to watch her sleeping peacefully beside him, accepting that at the same time he couldn't bare to leave her. Never wanted to leave her side. Never wanted to stop inhaling her sweet scent, or stop savouring the comforting warmth of her naked body next to his.

He had never felt this way about a woman before.

Last night had been amazing. Making love to Marie – and it had been making love - had almost felt like a re-birth, a cleansing away of the old Logan and all the emotional baggage he had been carrying around for the past twenty years. He knew it was inevitable that the sentiment would wear off eventually, and his past, or lack of it, would soon return to haunt him again - this was real life after all - but for now he was appreciating every second of feeling so…so light…it almost felt as if he no longer had metal forged to his bones.

He wanted so much to reach out and touch her, just to prove to himself that she was real. That she wasn't just an illusion conjured by desperation and need. She had come into his life so quickly that she seemed like she was part of a dream. The first good dream he had had in a long time.

He fought to swallow down his emotions.

Yeah. A very long time.

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

If she was real, he was never gonna let her go, and if she wasn't, he was never gonna wake up.

His eyes grew heavy. Either way…she was his.

With that closing thought he finally succumbed to sleep.

...

And woke, three hours later to discover that she was still lying beside him, as real as the new dawn.

"Hey."

Marie smiled sleepily up at him as he rested his head in his hand, watching her. "Hey yourself."

He reached down to kiss her, hard, impatient to taste her again, to reassure himself that she really was no illusion, the heat of her willing mouth making his inner Wolverine growl expectantly.

When they parted she slapped a hand to her lips, face colouring bashfully. "I've probably got morning breath!" she warned despairingly.

Logan grinned, amused yet surprised that such a trivial thing would bother her. The idea that she could suddenly become so self-conscious and coy after the passionate woman she had been last night turned him on incredibly. "You taste good enough to me." He reached across to run the back of his fingers down her flushed cheek. "You look good too, baby."

She dropped her gaze. "Logan…I…"

He felt a spark of concern as his eyes searched her face. "What is it?"

"I…" She sat up in bed hugging her knees to her chest and Logan couldn't help but sweep an appreciative gaze up the gentle curve of her naked back. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea…I don't usually…well…you're my first since David. I don't usually sleep with guys on the first date."

He let out a subtle sigh of relief. "So that was a date then?" he teased, his stare burning into her perfect profile, with the slightly upturned nose and full…so very inviting lips.

Marie turned to look at him. She smiled shyly. "I guess it was. Kinda bizarre one, huh?"

"Best date I've had, darlin'"

But he was done with talking, moving in to kiss her again as he pulled her back down onto the bed.

****

Logan scowled up into the sky. The clouds were low and sluggish and weighted with snow and he didn't think the morning was going to remain clear for long.

"Wanna grab some breakfast at the diner?"

Marie followed him out of his motel room. "Have we time?"

He shrugged. "Well, we're not punching a clock exactly. Eight was just a random time." He peered down at his watch. "It's almost eight now but I doubt the garage will be open until nine anyway."

She smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Then breakfast would be good."

As they crossed to the diner Logan came very close to slipping his hand into hers but something held him back. He still felt angry with himself for making the moves on Marie last night, especially after promising himself that he wouldn't, and he refused to let the fact that she seemed quite happy with the way things had turned out, excuse him in anyway.

To his relief the diner was much busier than the previous night and he thought it ironic that the greater number of customers seemed to usually ensure a greater amount of privacy. As they looked around for somewhere to sit he also noticed that a different woman had replaced the nosey waitress from before.

"That booth beside the radiator is free," he gestured.

Marie followed his gaze. "D'ya know…I don't feel cold at all this morning," she breezed happily, although they chose the booth anyway.

They ordered coffees and pancakes and this time there was none of the awkwardness of the previous night. It had been replaced with a different kind of discomposure; that strained anticipation felt between new lovers. Logan warmed to the alien feeling quicker than he thought he would. It was another thing that was new to him. He had always been confident sexually, and still was, but he was now so very conscious of Marie, of wanting to please her, make her happy…in bed as well as out of it.

He was no longer just thinking about himself, his needs and desires, and he had to admit that the sudden sense of responsibility scared the shit out of him. But on the other hand, it also added to that good feeling that was steadily germinating within him.

"Marie…I'm sorry about last night."

She looked a little perturbed. "I hope you mean the claws and not the us part."

He frowned, his gaze turning serious. He hoped that she was just teasing and wasn't actually thinking that last night meant nothing to him. "Marie…" he insisted firmly. "What happened…between us last night…was…was…"

Her eyes urged him to continue but he couldn't. He couldn't find the words. It was too hard. Frustrated, this time Logan and not the Wolverine growled within him, hating his one weakness.

"The claws part," he finally blurted.

She looked disappointed but perceptive enough to remain understanding. She fleetingly dropped her gaze to the table before slowly meeting his eyes again, the chocolate brown seeming to soften and liquefy. "I'll say it for you," she murmured, leaning toward him slightly. "Incredible," she literally purred and Logan was hypnotised by her bonding stare. "And that wasn't the claws part."

He found his own breath snagging in his throat. "Yeah…" he agreed huskily, wanting nothing more than to drag her back to the motel and reinforce that statement.

"But…about the claws part," she added quietly, her sultry countenance swiftly replaced by an edge of apprehension, much to Logan's disappointment.

He felt his stomach lurch and he flicked his gaze out of the window, eyes narrowing at the bleak grey morning. Not now, baby, he begged silently. Don't spoil things. Not yet.

"Is that…is that actually a mutation? It seems so…"

His eyes snapped back onto her. "Unnatural?"

"Yeah," she whispered sympathetically.

"That's 'cause it is." He ran a hand through his hair uneasily. "Mind if we take a rain check on that subject?"

She reached her hand out across the table and he found himself clenching it desperately.

"Of course I don't mind."

"I will tell ya," he promised, and he knew that he would. He wanted to. He wanted to keep nothing from Marie.

"I know you will," she soothed. "When you're ready."

"Your breakfast," the new waitress suddenly announced and they swiftly released hands. This time, however, they exchanged discreet wry smiles as she deposited their plates and mugs onto the table. "Enjoy." The woman had as much enthusiasm as a dog about to be spayed.

As she walked away Marie rolled her eyes. "I think it's a conspiracy!"

"I think you might be right, kid."

Marie glanced down at her breakfast and Logan followed her gaze to the generous pancake oozing maple syrup. He couldn't usually stomach breakfast but this morning he found himself with a craving for something sweet.

"Pancakes look good," she pointed out. "Wonder if they taste as good as they look."

"You sure did, baby," Logan couldn't resist saying.

He loved to see her blush. It brought out her eyes strikingly. For a distraction she promptly reached for her fork. "Let's eat," she teased, echoing her words from their previous diner visit.

******

Logan felt disheartened to be back on the road and he wondered what was going to happen now. He didn't think that Marie had seen last night as a one off, in fact he was sure of it, but she hadn't said anything to confirm her feelings one way or the other. They had eaten their breakfast, agreed that the pancakes were indeed good, discussed the possibility of more snow on its way, paid the bill and left. That was it.

And now here they were again.

Logan knew that he had to kick his ass into gear before it might be too late.

"Marie…"

She had been peering out of the window and she looked around at him hopefully.

"Marie…I have a proposal."

"Of marriage?" she laughed nervously. "That's a bit soon, don't you think?"

After his initial shock of the idea had faded (or was it the shock that it wouldn't seem such a bad idea?) he grinned. "No…the other kind of proposal." But never say never, darlin', he found himself thinking.

She nodded gently. "I'm listening."

That hope in her face intensified and Logan felt some of his fears dissolve away. He realised that she might want this too.

"How's about we explore Canada together? Let me show you around. I know the best places to go…the safest…we could share motel rooms, divide the costs…but if I'm moving too fast for ya…" It came out as one long desperate plea; he could hear it in every syllable, every subtle shift in pace and tone. He was literally begging her. Begging her not to leave him.

At his words the Wolverine turned away angrily, retreating deep within him, not wanting to be a part of this pathetic display. But Logan didn't care. All he cared about was her answer.

The smile she gave him in return was the most beautiful one to date. Her face literally shone with delight. "I would love that, Logan," she whispered shakily.

"We could even spend a few days in my cabin in the Rockies, if yer like. It's pretty basic but there's great views."

She nodded, seeming too overwhelmed to speak. Eventually she managed: "But what about your fighting?"

He shrugged dismissively. "Made enough money to last me a good while. Competition's been getting a bit stale anyway."

That wasn't entirely true, he admitted to himself, recalling his last fighting opponent. He had proved to be a challenge in more ways than one. Not just physically tough but driven in a way that Logan had found mildly disturbing. There had been something unsettling about his eyes…they hadn't seemed…stable. And yet there had been a fire within them that Logan had recognised all too well, because he saw it in his own eyes every time he looked into a mirror.

Demons. Lots of them.

And anger.

But aimed at him personally, or the world in general, Logan hadn't been able to determine. In all honesty, he hadn't been able to suss out much over that awful reek that permeated from every pore of the man's body. It even overpowered his sweat and that had been potent enough.

Garlic.

What did he do? Eat the stuff by the bucket load?

"If you're sure?" Marie interrupted his musings and he instantly forgot about Garlic Man.

"Baby, I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Then I need to tell you something…"

He frowned his curiosity as he stared out across the freeway. "Shoot."

She fidgeted a moment in her seat and he guessed that she was turning her body awkwardly in the belt to face him. "Last night…after your claws came out…did you hear what I said?"

His frown deepened as he tried to think but he finally accepted that he had been too caught up in his nightmare to recall a lot that had happened before Marie had actually touched his claws.

A shiver of longing ran down his spine as he acknowledged that tentative caress. No woman had ever dared do that before. No woman had shown that much trust in him. It made Marie seem all the more special. All the more precious.

He finally shook his head. "Sorry, darlin'"

She hesitated a moment before finally revealing: "I was relieved that you were a mutant too."

He quickly met her gaze, thankful that this particular section of freeway was not only straight but seemed to be unusually light of commuter traffic.

"Logan, I'm a mutant too."

"What -"

"My skin. When people touch my skin they get hurt."

"But last night?" Logan was confused.

"I can control it. Turn it off and on at will. I didn't used to be able to but…but after the accident it just happened."

"You never said -"

"It's hard to talk about," she cut him off.

"So those scars? On your legs?" he asked curiously but immediately felt bad for doing so. She says it's hard to talk about, bub! he reprimanded himself angrily.

She nodded her head so subtly it appeared more like a nervous twitch. "From the accident," she confirmed wretchedly. "I was trapped…they had to cut me free…"

He saw her blink back tears and he reached out a hand to softly stroke her hair. "We can take a rain check on that too, baby."

"Thanks, Logan."

He took another deep breath and realised that he was doing that a lot around Marie. She made him care when he had never cared about anything before. Not even about himself. Not anything that went deeper than the fundamentals of survival. "We're in this together," he declared throatily, those emotions overwhelming him again.

"Yeah," she promised back.

Her scent, so saturated with happiness, seemed to flood the cab like an alluring perfume and Logan found himself unconsciously projecting out his whole body…just a fraction…in an attempt to absorb every single inch of her joy, just like she had tried to inhale his cigar smoke yesterday.

The thought made him smile.

"Why the smile?" she asked gently and he realised that she had been watching him.

"Nothin'," he insisted, caught off guard.

"If you say so," she countered and he could tell that she was grinning.

"Mind if I smoke?" he added, in an attempt to change the subject.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

"So, I'm grandpa again?" he joked dryly.

He never would have believed that a laugh could prove so instantly addictive, but hers was like a drug to his senses. It made him think of poetry, of all the pansy ass things, of comparing it to the warmth of a clear summer's day, climbing up through lush forest, up into the mountains, to the only place he ever felt a moment's freedom from his travesty of a life. But what was even more surprising – even embarrassing to his inner Wolverine - was that he was eager to take a hit too, seduced by its warmth, its exoticness…and implications.

It sounded strange to hear himself laugh. Like he was listening to a stranger. Yet it felt kinda nice too. Like he was welcoming back a long lost friend.

He hoped, with what was left of his shattered heart, that he was here to stay.

****************

They pulled into Laughlin City about ten minutes later and Logan was a little surprised to notice more vehicles than usual blocking the streets around the bar's car park.

Two were cop cars.

He didn't know why but he suddenly felt a little knot of dread coil tightly within him. Like his heightened senses had picked up on the fact that something wasn't quite right. When he stopped in front of the bright orange tape that cordoned off the car park blocking the entrance, that feeling intensified and the hairs on the back of his neck pricked up.

Marie must've detected his shift in mood because she turned to him in concern. "Logan, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I dunno," was all he could offer, and he could hear fear in his words, but at the same time every part of him was becoming alert in readiness as his eyes flicked frantically back and forth, searching the unusual commotion that seemed to be going on.

Already a cop was approaching the camper van and he motioned for Logan to wind down the window.

But no sooner had Logan did as the man asked, death rushed gleefully into the cab, like a predator who had finally been rewarded with its prey, and slipped an icy grip tightly around his throat. As Logan fought to breathe, the mocking message it brought was already old news.

Because Logan knew. He could smell it. Could smell the blood.

Treena's blood.

In a single instant, all of his hopes, his newfound happiness – his world - came crashing down around him as death joined life, reunited partners in crime, to laugh triumphantly into his face.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – A Kind of Magic

 

Time seemed to stand still, as frozen and as raw as the new day, zooming in like a voyeuristic camera lens to focus solely on Logan as Marie saw the horror sweep across his face, watched as its darkness drained all light from his features...

...every last glimmer of hope from his eyes.

She stared after him in despair as he wrenched open the van door, roaring out Treena's name. Watched helplessly as he pushed passed the stunned cop who had been approaching the vehicle, knocking him roughly to the snow covered ground.

Treena? Marie anxiously scanned the parking lot, taking in the flashing lights, the sombre cops and stern looking men in suits. Had something happened to Treena? Was this commotion all because of her?

God! – she hugged herself with her arms – recalling that look on Logan's face. Distraught would have been too light a word to describe it. Crushed? Not even close. It was as if she had witnessed his very soul shattering into a million pieces.

She had surrendered her body – her heart – to him last night, when in truth she didn't know him at all, yet at that very moment she instinctively knew she had lost him. That his demons, whatever they were, had won.

And Treena had secured their victory.

But how on earth did he know it was her? What had happened to her? What terrible thing could possibly make Logan look as if his whole world had fallen apart?

She felt the tears prick at her eyes as the awful truth dawned on her.

She had been murdered.

What other explanation could there be?

The events that occurred next seemed to unfold before her eyes as if acted out in slow motion: Logan running like a man possessed into the centre of the chaos, cops immediately swooping in on him, manhandling him back from the scene of the crime.

As he struggled from the men's grasp she saw him bare his teeth into a snarl, heard him growl almost like a wild animal. His ferociousness was both frightening yet disturbingly compelling to watch and she prayed he wouldn't release his claws. Wouldn't hurt anyone.

When he cried out Treena's name again she finally shook out of her daze. Frantically unclipping her seatbelt she tore out of the van and hurried after him.

The cop Logan had knocked over and who had since risen, somewhat disgruntled, to his feet, snatched her by her jacket sleeve before she could get any closer. "Hey! I can't let you go over there."

Her mind raced for an excuse. "But that's my car!" she gestured determinedly.

He let her go. "Which one?"

"The black Cherokee."

"Licence plate?" he persisted.

Frowning, she told him.

At her correct confirmation he appeared mildly uncomfortable. "Could be a while before you get that back, I'm afraid. Forensics are still giving it the once over."

"Forensics? I don't understand," Marie blurted impatiently, desperate to get closer to Logan.

He took a deep breath, his face sympathetic. "A woman's body was found lying across the hood early this morning."

"Oh my god."

Marie felt the blood drain from her face leaving it feeling painfully tight and stretched. Treena's body? It had to be. She had been murdered. But again, she was bewildered as to how Logan could have possibly known it was her. Was there more to his mutation than just claws? Had he sensed something when they had entered the lot? Like some sort of premonition? And yet...yet it hadn't been until he had wound down the window that he had reacted so severely.

Nothing made sense and it made her head pound. Made her want to slip back into the camper, curl up into a tight defensive ball and allow none of this new nightmare to penetrate her. It reminded her too much of the accident – all the flashing lights and cops and commotion. Tragedy hung like a foul stench in the air. She could feel it now and she just wanted it all to go away. Just wanted to return to last night, when she had lain in Logan's arms and felt as close to heaven as she had ever been.

"You OK, miss?" the officer's voice was gentle, genuinely concerned.

Unfortunately, his concern did little to help as Treena's smiling face flashed into her subconscious - so open, so friendly, so alive - before distorting morbidly, becoming masked with death, eyes staring blankly...

Across the jeep? Her jeep? A dizzying bombardment of questions swirled around Marie's brain demanding answers. She had nothing to offer them except speculation.

"Miss?" the cop repeated, reaching for her arm.

Marie peered weakly across at him, her stomach lurching in warning. "I think I'm going to be sick," she confessed with a groan, before doubling over.

*******************

The rest of the morning proved somewhat of a blur and not unlike those first few hours that had followed the car accident that had killed David.

It was a peculiar feeling, an artificial sense of calm where you were numbly detached from all that was happening around you, yet were still able to function normally, act as if none of it related to you. Denial was the word that came to mind. It was a concept she was all too familiar with.

She wasn't sick after all, she just retched a few times that burnt her throat something rotten, but that didn't stop her feeling physically ill over what had happened. All she kept seeing was Treena's face. Her beautiful tarted up face. One minute alive, the next...

Logan was eventually calmed and treated with less hostility when it transpired that Treena had been a friend, although one cop, who had been winded from a stray swipe, was not looking in the best of moods. The crime had already been leaked to the press, several unsavoury looking journalists sniffing around where they were not wanted, and so his uncanny knowledge that it had been Treena was not treated suspiciously.

Marie had to sign some release form in regards to her vehicle but she barely read what it said, the words seeming to distort into one long intangible scrawl each time she tried to focus upon it. Whatever it entailed she realised that she wasn't getting the jeep back anytime soon, which didn't matter anyway since not only had it broken down but she was now intending to travel with Logan.

Or was she?

She felt her heart skip a beat.

What was going to happen now? How was this going to affect things?

They had left Laughlin City ten minutes ago after Logan had cornered one of the journalists for information (since the cops had no intention of divulging what had happened, other than the fact that it had been a murder, and it had been 29 year old local woman, Treena Parks). Marie had no idea what Logan had learnt from the journalist and he had remained silent for the duration of the journey so far, revealing nothing.

Dealing with his own shock, she guessed, although there was something else in his demeanour, something that she couldn't quite decipher, a look that frightened her. It was somehow feral, echoing of his earlier wild display, and...dangerous.

Please say something, Logan, she begged into the silence of her mind. Say anything. Break down. Open up to me. Tell me what's on your mind.

Of course, she knew exactly what was on his mind. Having been there herself barely a year ago. Right now he'd be feeling numb, disembodied from reality. Unable to take in the true enormity of what had happened.

Her heart ached for him.

Yet after last night, she couldn't help but feel selfish, didn't want to lose that connection they had forged. Even in the face of tragedy. If it was severed she feared it might be lost forever.

Please, Logan. Don't leave me.

The thought had barely entered her head when Logan suddenly veered off the road, making her jerk round in surprise. He parked awkwardly and impatiently into a small picnic area that had been cleared of the trees that dominated much of the stretch of freeway. Killing the engine, for a moment he just sat there, head bowed, hands gripping the steering wheel more tightly than was necessary.

"I'll be back," he finally blurted, freezing air rushing gleefully into the cab as he started to climb out of the camper. He wouldn't – or couldn't - meet her gaze.

"Where are you going?" Marie pressed urgently, her seatbelt digging into her as she lent towards him.

"Just...just gotta go." He met her stare then, his eyes glassy, wretched. It was enough to tell her why...why he needed to go.

"Keep the doors locked," he instructed firmly, despite his voice being rough and gravelly. "I...won't be long." He hesitated. "I just need..." he faltered, tried again. "Need..." He eventually gave up. "Trust me, baby?" He continued to watch her, desperate for her understanding, although it seemed a challenge now for him to keep eye contact.

Marie nodded cooperatively but reluctantly, acknowledging the wash of relief that swept his face. As he turned and stalked off into the forest she realised that there was little else she could do under the circumstances.

But twenty minutes later he still hadn't returned and becoming alarmed as well as cold now, she felt she had no choice but to ignore what he had asked. She climbed nervously out of the camper, locked the doors behind her and began to follow his footprints in the snow.

She choked back tears when she reached the end of her journey.

Logan was kneeling thigh-deep in the snow, body hunched forward, claws out and glinting chillingly in the first sun in several days. His hands were covered in dry blood that she guessed was his own and further spots of red stained the snow around him; so vivid against the white that it sent a shiver down her spine.

To his left side a small tree had been shredded to pieces.

His body quivered and heaved, his turmoil too consuming to sense her approach, his ragged sobs seeping intermittently out into the stark silence. She had never seen a man cry before and it was the most tragic thing she had ever witnessed, the most heart-breaking sound she had ever heard, and along with their sudden isolation, made her feel as if they were the only two people left in the whole world.

An icy breeze shivered through her hair as she stood, rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but watch her lover crumble beneath the weight of defeat. It was bitterly cold but she didn't notice, already frozen to the core by pain...and rising anger...

At that moment she hated life. Hated its cruelness. Hated what it was doing to this precious man, who didn't deserve to be on his knees, hurting this way. It was seeped in deception, allowing smiles but rewarding them with despair, offering respite only to snatch it away again for fear of you becoming too comfortable, too trusting.

Too happy?

Her breath began to quicken, her throat burning from the effort, and she was shaken by the overwhelming desire to kill Logan. To use her mutation to end his suffering there and then and follow him to that better place they both yearned, both needed so terribly.

It could be that easy.

That clean.

But just as quickly, she accepted that she didn't want to die. That she wanted to live. And she wanted Logan to live. She wanted to show him – prove to them both – that life could be better, if they only gave themselves a chance. That they could beat it at it's own game and step triumphant on the other side.

They could do that...together.

"Logan?"

He turned immediately, face glistening with tears, eyes red and bloodshot.

"Oh, Logan..." she sobbed, rushing through the snow to drop to her knees in front of him, searching his face fretfully as she brushed away the snowflakes from his beard.

"I know..." she soothed. "I know what it feels like." What it felt like to lose someone close, to wrestle with the pain, the anger and disbelief...

"She didn't deserve to die," he choked. "She didn't deserve to die like that..."

"No," Marie agreed in little more than a whisper. "She didn't."

His eyes flared. "Why her?" he demanded bitterly. "Why the fuck did it have to be her?"

"I...I don't know, Logan."

He turned away from her again, seemed to hunch further as if the weight bearing down upon him was too much to cope with any longer. "Christ, I can't...I can't go on like this. I can't...fight them anymore..." Tears dropped from his face, forging minute tunnels down through the yielding snow with almost a hiss, mingling with his blood...

It suddenly seemed so symbolic...

Blood, sweat and tears...

Logan's real life was beginning to mirror those cage fights that he reviled so much.

She reached out to touch him, run a tentative finger through the hair on his face. "Then let me help you," she started boldly. "Let's fight them...together."

He abruptly retracted his claws and the sound of metal sliding back into flesh made her stomach turn. As he slowly lifted his head to look at her his hazel eyes bored into hers, pleaded with her, and she quickly complied, accepting his trembling body into her small but willing embrace.

He gripped her so tightly, so desperately, that she found it difficult to breathe, yet his grief-stricken sobs were enough to provoke the same emotions from her own tortured soul. She began to cry too. Tears that seemed to scorch her eyes as they dropped into Logan's hair as he pressed his face submissively into her chest: tears for David, for Logan, for Treena...

...for herself and the dreams that had been cruelly snatched away from her.

"Shhhhh," she sniffed, as she lightly rubbed his back through the cold leather of his jacket. "Shhhhhh."

But he quickly pulled her from his grasp, holding her at arm's length, eyes searching her face tensely. "Don't leave me, darlin'" he begged. "Please don't leave me."

"I won't," she reassured.

"I...I need you, Marie. I need you so much..."

She drew him against her again, her hand moving from his back to run through his hair now.

"I need you too."

She glanced up for no particular reason, her tears heavy upon her eyelashes, and gasped when she saw a lone wolf about one hundred feet away, between the trees. The creature looked as if it had been padding through the snow but had stopped to observe them, its head turned towards their kneeling figures.

It was so unexpected, so beautiful. Nature at its most breath-taking.

As she met its gaze she was surprised to feel no fear, no panic. Instead she experienced an instant connection with the animal, an exchange of something completely primal and an acute understanding of what they shared...

Logan?

She couldn't fully comprehend what it meant but as the wolf broke their link and continued off through the trees she felt strangely exhilarated.

She watched it in awe as it grew smaller and smaller until it disappeared from view. She didn't know whether it had simply moved out of visual range or had faded away like a ghost. A part of her favoured the latter, inspired by the idea.

"I love you, Logan," she found herself whispering breathlessly into his ear, knowing that it was a crazy statement to make when they had only just met, but knowing that in her heart of hearts it was true. That she had never felt this way before. That it had to mean something.

And, she accepted, even if it was rash, even if it wasn't to last, it was sincere at that moment. When it needed to be heard. And that was what mattered most.

Her declaration seemed to make him cry harder, made him clutch her tighter. "Baby," he groaned. "God, Marie." She hadn't expected him to return the sentiment and so was not disappointed when he didn't. She was only glad that her words hadn't been received negatively.

His hands ran through her hair, swept her tear-stained face, couldn't seem to stop touching her. It felt like he was checking that she was...intact?...real? Whatever the motive she welcomed his exploration, relished it, moaning softly as she closed her eyes to allow his fingers to trace the outline of her lids and brows.

And then his hands moved to one side and his mouth took their place, his warm dry lips pressing demandingly against hers, seeking access between them so that his tongue could slip inside. Although his sobs were ebbing away she could still feel his tears mingling with her own as skin met skin. It somehow made the moment more intense, more poignant and she moaned again as she returned his kiss feverishly, giving him everything his shattered soul needed, offering all that there was of her heart to give.

I belong to this man, a little voice in her head sang. I was always meant to belong to him. And I was meant to heal him. Make him whole again.

When he suddenly stopped kissing her she blinked her eyes open in surprise, concerned that something was wrong.

"Logan?"

To her relief a glimmer of that hope had returned to his ravaged eyes. "At the bar...when ya' first...first looked at me? Did ya'...did ya' feel it too?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "I felt it too."

He took a deep breath. "I'd never let myself believe before..."

"In what?" she dared.

"In somethin'...somethin' this strong..."

She bit her lip. "I was such a dreamer as a kid..." she started hesitantly. "Used to get teased all the time..." She wavered, emotions playing havoc with her voice as she added: "But I always knew it was all true...that magic..." She shrugged, becoming embarrassed. "I know this isn't the same. You're not a knight on a white charger and I'm not the princess locked in the tower...but...but this still kinda feels the same. Still feels...special."

She didn't know how he'd react, how he'd respond to her words but she prayed he wouldn't laugh at her. She knew that physically he probably wouldn't be able to, what with Treena and all, but his face could betray ridicule if he let it, if he wasn't what she believed he was.

But there was no mocking on his face. Instead he reached out to her, gently urged her into his chest like she had his earlier and she felt his chin rest on the top of her head as his arms wrapped around her protectively. "You're right, kid, I aint no knight on a white charger..." His voice was more composed now, gaining in strength.

Her heart pounded in her ears.

"An' neither am I ever likely to be."

She closed her eyes, just wanting to melt into the heat of his hard body.

"I aint no hero."

Oh, you are, Logan, she thought tenderly. More than you realise.

"But I can give ya..." he struggled. "I can give ya'...magic...if ya' want it."

She knew that he was a man of few words and that made these stilted offerings all the more precious.

"I can give ya' that much."

She smiled into the darkness of his embrace. "That's all I want," she assured, feeling a swell of renewed hope rush through her.

Those demons of his hadn't won after all.

And those that did still remain had one hell of a fight on their hands now they had her to contend with as well as Logan.

 

AUTHOR's NOTE – 

Just for the record, I know absolutely zilch about crime scenes/cop protocols etc so I'm just guessing and trying to keep things simple so that I can't get moaned at. 

I do, however, know what it's like to lose someone close, so that is accurate and from the heart. 

I didn't know whether the magic bit at the end was a bit over the top but after much deliberating I decided to keep it in, because I'm a dreamy sort of gal myself and...well...it's my story – hee hee! I've just tried to make Logan as uncomfortable as hell talking about it! 'grin' 

:D

And that's all for now.

Feedback is always appreciated.

And yeah – that is a hint!

:P


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – Cerebro Reveals a Broken Man

 

Professor Charles Xavier took a deep breath as he stared out of the window of his study. It was a beautiful morning, the sun was shining, the sky was blue and clear, but none of it was acknowledged, none of it touched his eyes.

He was too troubled to admire the scenery today.

A light knock on the fine mahogany door proceeded Dr Jean Grey's entry into the room and Charles turned slowly in his wheelchair, severing his gaze from the Institute grounds. He offered his colleague and close friend a weak smile.

"Scott and Storm are on their way," she confirmed softly as she took a seat in one of the chairs that faced Charles desk, crossing her legs gracefully.

Charles nodded distractedly.

"Are you OK, Charles?"

"I'm fine, Jean. Just a little..." he stopped, not even sure himself how he felt at that very moment. Shocked? Shaken? Guilty? He had to admit to all three.

Jean watched him anxiously. "Charles?" she persisted and Charles guessed that she had picked up on his unrest. Not that it could be attributed to her telepathy, or else she would have known exactly what was bothering him by now, but simply a friend's intuition.

But before he could answer, the door was opened again and Scott and Storm entered the room. Both seemed puzzled as to why they had been called and appeared to share Jean's concern.

"I'm sorry to call you out of classes at such short notice," Charles apologised, gesturing to the chairs either side of Jean's. "I hope you were able to arrange suitable cover. I know that Bobby has recently completed his teacher training and would be a competent substitute for any one of you."

"He's covering my class actually," Storm revealed with a smile. "He seemed quite eager to do so too." As she slipped into her chair she added wryly: "although I don't know whether that will turn out to be a good or bad thing."

"Hank offered to cover mine," Scott revealed briskly. "He was working in the lab next door anyway."

Charles nodded his satisfaction.

When they were all seated he decided to get straight to the point.

"You are aware that I keep..." he hesitated, before adding, somewhat uncomfortably: "tabs on the Wolverine. And have been doing so for several years using Cerebro. Since I first became aware of him I have strongly believed that he would make a valuable member of our team, yet have always felt reluctant to approach him without good reason, hoping that eventually fate might steer him to us instead."

"I'm afraid I don't share your faith, Professor," Scott disagreed firmly. "On him being a part of our team or ever turning up on our doorstep. A livewire like that is best kept away from the Institute."

Charles frowned, resting his chin upon his hands in mild reflection. "I am aware of your sentiments, Scott, and although I understand them I also feel they are unjustified." He flicked his eyes onto Storm. "Storm?"

"Well, I cannot judge someone I have never met, but from what I have heard I must admit to having my reservations. This is a school, full of children. Whose safety is our number one priority."

"Jean?" The Professor pressed hopefully.

"I honestly don't think an individual like the Wolverine could ever settle into a life here at the mansion."

"And as an X-Man?"

She shrugged. "I'm afraid I have to agree with Scott. He's a livewire, a loose cannon, someone who would find it difficult to conform, to take orders. There is a strong possibility that he could endanger rather than support the team in a time of crisis."

Charles' frown deepened. "I will not lie. I am disappointed by your attitudes. Were you not all loose cannons at one time, before you were able to fully understand or control your mutations? In a more diluted sense, granted, but you have all experienced that sense of not belonging, of fighting inner conflicts...or demons, as they are often termed. The Wolverine is no exception." He paused, regarding them each intensely before adding: "And right now his particular demons seem to have overwhelmed him to breaking point."

He took another deep breath, leaning back in his wheelchair to grip at the sides tensely.

"In Cerebro this morning I was witness to something which not only disturbed me, but emotionally, affected me quite profoundly."

The X-Men watched him in silence.

"I believe that the Wolverine had a mental breakdown."

"A breakdown?" Scott's face contorted in surprise behind his visor.

Charles nodded sombrely. "He has battled his demons a long time. Unlike yourselves, he has had no one to relieve him of some of the weight of that burden, to offer him a light at the end of the tunnel." The Professor suddenly looked pained. "I feel that I have let him down. That I have made a mistake refraining from making contact."

"What exactly did you see?" Jean asked gently.

"I would rather not divulge that," Charles confessed. "I think that after all these years of our – my - prying, the man is entitled to a little privacy. Just let me say, however, that the Wolverine is a broken man right now."

"Was there any...any trigger to this breakdown?" Storm deliberated gently, eyes poignant. "You have always described him as a strong controlled man. So to succumb to his emotions in such a way is..."

"Out of character," Scott put in bluntly.

Charles opened one of his desk drawers and brought out a crisp, plainly unread newspaper. He deposited it in front of the X-Men.

Scott allowed an eyebrow to rise up from behind his visor. "I didn't know you read Canadian newspapers."

"I feel it is in my best interests, considering the Wolverine's preferred location."

"Somehow I can't imagine you crossing the border each morning to collect this," Scott smirked.

A small smile shivered across the Professor's lips. "I have contacts."

"In the journalistic world?" Storm teased.

"One or two," Charles admitted humorously. "Although this particular contribution was derived from another source."

"Who?" Scott asked curiously.

"The government."

Scott gaped at him in shock. "The Canadian government?"

"How do you think I know so much about the Wolverine?"

"But aren't they the ones behind the whole Weapon X experiment?" Scott frowned, confused.

"Not all of them."

"You never cease to amaze me," Scott groaned in exasperation. He turned to Jean. "Jean? Do you know about this?"

The look she gave in return answered for her. It transpired that telepaths stuck together.

Charles watched the exchange between husband and wife with interest. There were very few things he kept from Scott and Storm but some secrets were deemed necessary to ensure their future safety. Keeping them in the dark, at least for the time being, about certain contacts, wasn't exactly crucial but it helped him sleep at night. Jean was the only exception, since she had been the one to mediate the majority of the alliances in the first place.

Scott shook his head in disbelief but seemed a little too lost for words to express his grievances.

"The headline..." Charles urged in an attempt to change the subject, gesturing to the newspaper impatiently.

"Mutant Slain..." Storm read aloud. She peered back up at the Professor quizzically.

"Her name is Treena Parks," Charles revealed. "She is – was - an acquaintance of the Wolverine..."

"Let me guess. That translates to she shared his bed." Scott sneered.

Charles chose to ignore his uncalled for comment, well aware of the young man's dislike of the Wolverine. He even understood it to a certain degree. The Wolverine either apposed or lacked interest in practically everything Scott looked up to. Everything he believed in.

Charles turned his attention back to the headline. "The fact of the matter is, Treena Parks was no mutant."

"Then why would they call her one?" Storm questioned.

"Read on," Charles requested urgently.

As they did so, the weather-witch paled. "Oh my god. That poor girl."

"That's sick," Jean shivered.

Scott's jaw tensed. "Does this have anything to do with Wolverine?"

"I believe so," Charles confirmed grimly. "I don't only use Cerebro to keep tabs on the Wolverine."

"No, you send us out into that inhospitable snowy wilderness on occasions too," Scott complained.

"Which I appreciate," Charles intervened promptly. "But as I have said, I also have outside contacts. And it was through one of these contacts I discovered that Wolverine had forged a genuine friendship with Treena Parks, that wasn't just confined to the bedroom as you so bluntly put it." He glared fleetingly at Scott before continuing: "Considering his solitary nature this was rather unique and quite unexpected. It gave me hope that he might be willing to let people in after all."

"You don't think Wolverine murdered her, do you?"

"No, Scott. But I think that whoever did murder Treena was targeting the Wolverine."

Storm frowned. "I don't understand."

"I do." It was Jean, who had remained relatively silent since reading the story.

All eyes turned to her.

"That thing...what the murderer did...you think it's somehow a message to the Wolverine. Not directed at Treena at all. That it was misinterpreted."

A tremor ran through Charles at the reminder and he wondered how deranged someone had to be to carve words onto the back of an innocent young woman. The idea that she might have been...might have been alive when the knife scratched mercilessly through her skin...just didn't bare thinking about and he prayed that she had already been dead.

He also wished that the macabre image would stop flashing into his mind...

_Mutant Freak!_

Words scribed in vivid red blood set against frozen blue-tinged flesh...

"Professor?" Jean prompted.

His eyes focused on her once more. "To an unknowing public it was only natural that it would be misinterpreted," he agreed, quickly snapping out of his unsettling reverie "But to those of us with a little more insight...well...it seems that we are not the only ones keeping tabs on the Wolverine."

"This is only speculation, I take it?" Scott asked warily.

"No," Jean responded hastily. "I don't think so, Scott. I can't help but feel that the Professor is right about this."

"Then who would be targeting the Wolverine...and why?" Scott demanded. After a few seconds of contemplation he gestured to the newspaper, adding: "they can't be a mutant. Not to write that on her back. Sounds like a mutant hater to me."

Charles nodded. "I have to agree that it is a strong possibility." Frustration flooded his face. "But as for why..." he gestured helplessly with his hands. "I simply have no idea.

He glanced down at the newspaper, suddenly angered by such a senseless waste, unwavering in his belief that all life was precious, be it mutant or human. "But whoever it is, mutant or not, we need to discover their identity and ensure their arrest as soon as possible. Especially now that the Wolverine appears to have forged a second attachment, an attachment that could very well become the killers next target." He regarded his X-Men seriously, recalling in his mind's eye what Cerebro had revealed to him less than an hour ago, those images that had touched him so profoundly...

He didn't think he would ever forget the sight of them: Wolverine and the young woman, buried knee-deep in the snow, wrapped in one another's arms as their tortured faces had glistened with tears... provoking tears of his own.

He forced down his emotions, concluding: "And Cerebro tells me that she most definitely is a mutant."

"There is also something else we might need to consider," Scott pointed out after a short silence. "Considering the Wolverine's temperament." He gestured, once more, to the newspaper and in particular the photograph of Treena Parks. "Broken man or not, the Wolverine is not going to just walk away from this. If he was as close to this woman as you claim, he's going to be out for blood."

***************

Marie was freezing by the time they got back to the camper van. She didn't know how many minutes they had knelt in the snow wrapped in one another's arms but it had been long enough to numb her fingers and toes painfully. She wondered, slightly paranoid, what frostbite felt like.

Handing Logan the keys with a discreetly clenched jaw, trying desperately to keep her teeth from chattering, she mirrored his actions and climbed into her seat. After he had started the engine he immediately turned the heating up to the max.

He glanced at her in concern. "You look cold."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "A bit."

He rolled his eyes. "You aint much of a liar, are ya kid?"

Taking her by surprise, he reached across for her hands, enveloping them in his own with a gentleness that made her breath snag in her throat. As he started to rub at them vigorously she watched him with a mixture of mild shock and contentment.

His eyes flicked onto hers as he massaged between her fingers, sending tiny jolts of pleasure shooting through her. "I'm...I'm sorry about what happened," he began, seeming embarrassed. His head nodded towards the window. "Out there."

"Don't be," she returned firmly, savouring the touch of his skin against hers as well as the delicious warmth he was conjuring with his expert hands. "You needed... needed that release." She took a deep breath, fleetingly closing her eyes as the emotions bubbled up within her again. She forced them back down. "I think I did too."

She reluctantly slipped her hands from his, although not before thanking him with a grateful smile, and moved back into her seat. She found herself staring out through the window, admiring the snow-covered trees as they sparkled enchantingly in the sun.

The scenery was so beautiful, she thought idly. Like a winter wonderland.

At the same time she could feel Logan's eyes burning into her face.

"Marie?"

She turned slowly to look at him.

"I meant what I said."

She watched him silently, mesmerised by his face. So handsome. So haunted.

"I want ya in my life."

After a few long moments he severed their gaze and it was his turn to drop back into his seat and stare blankly out of the window. "But I...I didn't mean to get so heavy out there." He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head angrily. "So god-damn needy."

"I liked being needed," she admitted, in little more than a whisper.

At her words, he scrunched his eyes tightly closed and the silence stretched into one of the longest minutes of her life. When he finally spoke again his voice made her start, it came so unexpected. "This is crazy," he murmured, eyes still closed, head pressed back into the seat tensely.

"What is?" she dared.

Swallowing with some difficulty, his face seemed to wrestle with some inner torment. "Us," he confessed. His hazel eyes blinked open and he moved his head round a fraction to peer across at her, perplexed. "This."

She turned in her seat, scooting a little closer to his. "Just two people...needing each other..." she began softly.

Their eyes locked.

"Nothing crazy about that," she insisted, although there was desperation beginning to lace through her words. He had just said that he wanted her in his life and yet he now seemed to be struggling with the concept.

Reaching across to run a finger through her hair, he offered her a sad smile. "Guess not."

"Believe it," she urged.

But his face betrayed his true feelings and she realised, frustrated, that he still couldn't accept it. That he was afraid to accept it. She found that she had to battle to keep her anger suppressed. She didn't know whether it was Logan or those demons that she was mad at. Perhaps a bit of both.

"Logan? Didn't last night tell you anything?" she grieved. "I want to be with you. Y.O.U!" She scowled at him. "And yeah, we have just met. And yeah, perhaps it does seem a bit hasty, but it also feels right. We feel right." Her frown deepened. "Right?!"

To her relief a hint of a smile tugged at Logan's lips. "You remind me of me when you scowl like that."

She dropped herself unceremoniously back into her seat, folding her arms to her chest defiantly. "Fuck you!"

Christ! Had she just said that?! To him? To a man who beat people to a pulp for a living?

She felt his eyes on her again and she was dying to look back at him to see whether he was angry or not. She felt her heart begin to pound in her ears.

"Ouch," he returned eventually, his voice annoyingly neutral.

This time she did look at him. "I'm sorry," she blurted, ashamed. "You didn't deserve that...not after... well ...not today..."

"Maybe I did," he disagreed quietly.

"I just...it's just that you..." she rolled her eyes, unable to hold back. "God, you don't half confuse me!" she exclaimed. "I can't fathom what it is you want."

"I want you," he maintained quickly.

"Then stop putting obstacles in the way and just accept it. I'm not too good for you. You're not too bad for me. End of story!"

He grinned. "Fiery little thing, aint ya?"

She sighed. "I have been known to blow a fuse or two in my time. People assume I'm shy 'cause I'm quiet...but sometimes I surprise myself with my bluntness."

"No kiddin'?"

"Being a mutant doesn't help and can get kinda overwhelming at times, as I'm sure you'll agree." She regarded him shrewdly. "I can't believe that you beat men up in a cage purely for the pleasure of it?"

"Point taken."

"But...sorry again for swearing at you. I don't usually make a habit of it. My mamma was big on manners."

"Guess I bring out the worst in ya?"

That made her smile a little. It also made her burn inside as she remembered last night.

He lent forward to snatch gently at her wrist. "C'm'ere."

She gaped at him, pulling back from his grasp. "What?"

He tugged at her arm. "C'm'ere!"

Slightly bewildered, she allowed herself to be dragged across to his side.

"Straddle me," he demanded huskily.

Her eyes widened. "Now?"

"Well, not next week, darlin'"

She climbed onto him awkwardly, seeming to take forever to find a comfortable position. When she finally sat down and faced him, he regarded her in amusement.

"You done yet?" he teased.

She grinned at him sheepishly. "Sorry. I haven't straddled in a while."

His arms swept around her, cupping her behind and drawing her closer to him until they were mere inches apart. "Better start practising then. 'Cause I like bein' straddled."

As a whole flock of butterflies stirred into life in her stomach, Marie ground her body down into his. "Like this?" she asked breathlessly.

"Oh yeah," he groaned.

Throat burning with anticipation she slipped her hands either side of his face, suddenly needing to feel his lips on hers. "Kiss me, Logan."

His eyes searched her face restlessly. "I need you to do somethin' first."

She watched him questioningly.

"You said that you can switch your mutation on and off?"

She frowned down at him. "Yeah? So?"

"Switch it on when we kiss."

She flinched back from him, face flooding with horror. "Are you mad!"

"Just enough to...to absorb what ya need to know."

In a panic, she attempted to move off of him but he clamped his hands around her wrists holding her in place.

"Logan, you're...you're hurting me..."

His eyes flamed with urgency. "You say I confuse ya...that ya don't know what I want..."

"Yes, but -"

"I can't even begin to explain my demons, Marie. An' part of me...part of me just don't wanna. Can't face it." His face darkened with shame. "I know I'm bein' selfish...taking the easy way out...but I - "

"It will hurt you," she warned desperately.

"I can take a little pain," he insisted.

"But you've been hurt enough."

"Please, Marie. I need you to - " he faltered, easing his grip on her a little. "- to know the man inside."

For the first time since meeting Logan she was afraid. Not of him or what he asked exactly, not even of what she might find out. She was afraid of contributing to that maelstrom of suffering that he endured day after day.

"I don't want to hurt you..." she begged meekly. "Please don't make me hurt you."

If something should go wrong...

She could kill him.

Yet at the same time she wanted him inside her so badly, for him to be a part of her. For her to be able to share his demons and in doing so better help him defeat them. It would be an intimacy that extended way beyond lovemaking. That would remain until her dying day, whatever trials and tribulations life threw at them along the way.

This would be a linking of souls.

Her hand reached tentatively out to his face, her finger timidly tracing a line along his brow, down the length of his nose, to gently brush his soft warm lips, like he had done to her outside in the snow, when his world had came crashing down around them.

She saw relief and gratitude in his eyes as she inched closer and as her lips sought his she whispered: "I'm sorry..."

The fact was, this would hurt him. Just as it would hurt her doing it.

As their mouths moved together heatedly, tongues exploring, demanding attention, she triggered that mental switch that would activate her mutation, surrendering willingly to the rush of genes that had lain dormant for over a year.

The pull came immediately and it felt so good, as if her whole body was being charged with the most organic form of energy, the power flooding into her making her feel invincible, and somehow complete, as if embracing her mutation was what made her whole again and that denying it had been suppressing her soul, her freedom.

But when she felt Logan gasp beneath the weight of their kiss it promptly brought her back to reality and his implicit trust in her made her feel ashamed of such wrong thoughts. He didn't stop kissing her, didn't stop running his hands through her hair, didn't loosen his hold on her, at least not straight away. He was strong, she'd give him that.

But her mutation was stronger and as he continued to pour into her, course through her veins to fill her entirely, she felt him begin to weaken, felt him instinctively recoil back as the pain must've started to overwhelm him.

That's when she pulled away, fearful of her mutation not complying with that mental switch of hers; worried that there might be a short delay. She had no desire to prolong his suffering.

When she looked at him again, he was frighteningly pale and his veins seemed to be more pronounced than normal although they were rapidly disappearing back beneath the surface of his skin.

"Logan?" she gasped, searching his face frantically. "Logan, speak to me!"

His left cheek twitched, once, twice. Then his eyes blinked lazily open. "Was that it?" he tried to joke, but his voice sounded laboured and fragile.

As relief swept through her she punched him gently in the shoulder. "I hate you for making me do that." But just as quickly she dropped her head down onto his chest, feeling the tears prick at her eyes once more. "And I hate them for doing that to you."

He was in her head and he didn't feel invasive at all. Not like David had been at first. He felt right. And warm. And comforting...

He was a good man, a genuine soul beneath all that brooding and all those dark menacing scowls. She could feel it with every fibre of her being and along with her joy it brought another wave of relief sweeping through her.

But the truth was also in her head now. The nightmare that was his past – at least what he could remember of it. Along with all his questions, his turmoil, his anger and despair.

As Logan's demons became her demons she began to cry.

And this time it was only for him.

"Oh, Logan," she sobbed. "I'm so...so sorry."


	8. Chapter 8

This chapter continues IMMEDIATELY after the last one so you might need to refresh your memory of the last few paragraphs of chapter 7 for it to really flow right...

Chapter 8 – A Perfect Equilibrium

 

Sorry?

_She_ was sorry?

When he realised what had happened, what he had done, Logan scrunched his eyes shut, dropping his head forward to bury his face into her hair, guilt overwhelming him.

_No...please no...not that..._

But her words had revealed as much...that Marie hadn't just absorbed the latter part of his memories as he had stupidly assumed, she had absorbed his nightmares too. The Lab. The men in masks. The torture and pain.

Everything.

In his desperation to spare himself a few miserable fuckin' words he hadn't thought his actions through, had acted impulsively.

Selfishly.

Remorse quickly gave way to anger. How could he have done it to her? The only light he had ever known in his sorry excuse for a life! He had practically forced her to use her mutation. Given her little choice but to agree...

And _she_ was fuckin' sorry?

He reached for her arms and gently eased her from his chest, the sight of her tearstained face acting like an instant kick in the teeth.

"Christ, Marie, it's me who should be apologisin'. I didn't think. Didn't even consider..." His eyes were dark, almost black, with shame. "I never..." he tenderly, remorsefully, caressed her arms over her sweater. "Never wanted you to have the nightmares too."

Marie struggled with a smile. "You take the rough with the smooth," she shrugged in a cavalier fashion. "That's just the way of things."

"But I shouldn't have taken advantage -"

"Don't," she silenced, her delivery soft, whilst the underlying message was firm. "I wanted all of you inside me. Not just..." she faltered before adding: "well...you know...not just in a temporary physical way." She blushed endearingly at the memory but managed to resurrect her smile. "Guess I'm greedy, huh?"

His hazel eyes wandered over her face in disbelief. How did she do it, he wondered, feeling something bordering upon awe. How the hell did she manage to make everything all right in a few sentences? His pathetic struggle with words seemed to be magically remedied by her ease with them. Every time.

His hands swept up to tenderly cup her face. She felt so soft, so warm, so perfect against his skin. The faint rhythm of her heartbeat echoed up her long slender throat, pulsing a feather-light caress through his fingers. It seemed to match his own in perfect unison.

"You're so beautiful, darlin'," he growled huskily.

"Nah, I'm not," she protested shyly. "My lips are too big, my teeth are kinda weird and I'm far too short."

Her modesty genuinely took him aback. Was this kid for real? Was she genuinely not aware of what she did to a man? What she did to him? How she heated the blood coursing through his veins and twisted his gut with feelings that felt so alien he almost felt like he was losing a part of himself to her?

As he watched her, for a moment fascinated by the flecks of dark green anticipation smouldering in her beautiful brown eyes, he wondered just how sheltered a life she had led up until now. Was she that innocent?

That word had repeated over and over in his head like a mantra since the very moment he had first laid eyes on her: pure, pure, fuckin' pure...it was driving him crazy...but...entirely in a good way, as he found himself suddenly possessive of what she offered. Not a purity of body exactly, last night had proven that she was no chaste virgin, but of something that ran deeper, that cut straight to the soul.

"I aint talkin' 'bout that sort of beauty," he eventually whispered, a ghost of a smile sweeping his face. "I mean...inside."

"Oh." She lowered her gaze, embarrassed.

"But – hey - ya get top marks in that category too." His thumb brushed across her lips. "An' I happen to think these are gorgeous." He felt her shudder beneath his touch and his heightened senses noted the increase in her heartbeat as her eyes met his again.

"Perfect size for kissin'."

Eager to prove his point he moved in to claim her mouth again, claim those perfect lips, his senses quickly intoxicated by her sweet taste and willing tongue. He had never known a woman to excite him as much as Marie did, make him yearn for something more than just fulfilling a primal need. Once, he had only hungered for hard and dirty; quick emotionless fucks in seedy motels and back alleys, but Marie made him want to start over again, savour the simplicity of a teasing kiss or a tentative touch, experiences that he couldn't remember, had no memory of, no nostalgia to warmly recall.

The simple fact was, he had never known a time when _he_ had been innocent. Twenty years was all his tortured mind would allow him, and it was dark.

So dark.

When they finally parted he was surprisingly breathless. "Yeah, I don't think a man could ever tire of that hot willin' mouth of yours."

Sighing, she briefly closed her eyes. "I could stay here forever," she murmured contentedly. "Straddling you like this, out in the middle of nowhere." Opening her eyes again she glanced out of the window. "Surrounded by this Winter Wonderland."

"Cold Winter Wonderland," he pointed out, amused.

She snapped her gaze back onto him and grinned. "I don't care. I'm gonna get used to it. Just you see."

Her smile was so honest, so natural and open, hiding nothing, ashamed of nothing that she was feeling. She was like a fresh mountain breeze when all he had known was suffocating stale air and rancid breath. She was the cleansing he sought when he retreated, every so often (although never enough), to his cabin in the Rockies when solitude was the only thing that could calm his tormented mind.

She appeared about to say something else when she promptly stopped and the smile he was devouring with distracted eyes was instantly gutted. Her features suddenly seemed to dim, lose their vibrancy.

She regarded him dejectedly. "But..." she struggled to swallow her emotions. "But you want me to go home?" she asked, hurt, and he guessed that she had registered one of his more recent thoughts.

"I want ya to be safe."

"I am safe," she insisted. "Here with you."

For a moment he couldn't meet her eyes, although he could feel their intensity upon him, searching for answers that were always too much of a challenge for him to give. "This mornin' everythin' felt so right," he confessed gently. "You and me and the open road." He scrubbed a hand across his forehead and back through his hair. "But after discoverin' about Treena -"

"Yeah," she interrupted sadly. "I know."

"I just can't walk away from this, Marie. That fucker is gonna pay for what he did."

"The police will find him," she promised, although he could detect the doubt in her words. Even she wasn't convinced.

The claws of his left hand shot out before he could stop them and the fact that she scarcely flinched touched him profoundly. Made him feel less of a freak somehow, less of an animal. She made him feel normal. Trusted. Just a man...

Just Logan, the guy who liked to watch hockey with a good cigar and bottle of Molsen; who liked walking in the snow at first light when the world was still sleeping...

"I doubt it," he blurted heatedly. "And even if they do, the law won't finish the job." His eyes bored into hers. "I want him dead."

Just thinking about it stirred the Wolverine within, provoked the bloodlust that both excited and disgusted him. "An' it aint gonna be safe for you to stay with me whilst I'm huntin' the bastard down."

He waited a few seconds for the Wolverine to retreat. "You know me now. You've got me in here." He lightly tapped her forehead with his claw-free hand. "I aint no saint. These things have tasted blood and are gonna again. I don't kill without good reason but I have killed. An' I won't rest until these are knuckle-deep in that fucker's chest." He retracted his claws again. "I owe it to Treena."

Marie was silent for a long time, at least it seemed to stretch forever when it was probably only half a minute, and he wished he could read the emotions sweeping her face.

"I know you loved her a great deal," she began sympathetically. "I can...feel it...know it instinctively, now that I have you in my head."

He nodded once, fleetingly, and it was only then that he acknowledged just how much Treena had actually meant to him, that he _had_ loved her. She had been a kindred spirit, someone who had known, all to well, that vicious cycle of depravity; that twilight world of bars and violence and casual sex. Someone who had also yearned for escape, even though she had never admitted it to him. Yet it was only now, remembering that look in her painted eyes...

It pained him to accept that she had looked to him for hope when he had been seeking it from someone else.

He had failed her.

But he wouldn't fail her again.

"Let me help you," Marie whispered and Logan focused back upon her with a start, immediately picking up a trace of nervousness in her scent. She lifted her hands up before him and he stared down at them in puzzlement. "These can kill too, you know."

"No!" he cried out, her declaration burning through his senses like acid, and he instantly enveloped her hands in his. "Don't ya even think it. Don't ya dare. Not you. Never you!"

"I'm not a kid, Logan, and I make my own decisions," she insisted firmly, a hint of annoyance flaring up into her tone. But then she sighed, relented. "OK, perhaps I don't want to use my mutation to hurt anyone but I'm not going home and you can't make me." She slipped her hands from his and reached across to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "I know that you're divided, that you're struggling with what you feel is best, but the stronger part of you wants me to stay with you. It's all in my head now so you can't deny it. You're right – it does make things easier. You can't hide from me any longer.

"But you can't see in my head so I'm gonna share something with you now. The fact that I've never done anything of consequence in my life. Nothing that meant anything meaningful. That made me feel like I was really living...

"Until I met you." Her eyes flared with a passion that had little to do with desire and everything to do with hope.

That hope again, Logan realised. The one thing that seemed to be steering their lives, dictating their every emotion.

"You've got ya whole life ahead of ya," he reminded her.

"Have I? You don't know that. I could die tomorrow."

"Marie -" he frowned, disappointed, whilst deep down the idea ignited a new fear inside him.

"David made plans," she continued regardless. "Plans for the future. Our future. He didn't know that he had so little time left."

"I'm sorry, baby."

She smiled sadly. "I know you are, but it doesn't change the fact that David is dead. If there's one thing I've learnt from this past hell of a year is that you don't know what tomorrow's gonna bring. So you've got to live for now. There's nothing else.

"And right now I'm burning, Logan. You make me burn. You make me burn with a fire that I've never known before. I feel more alive when I'm with you than I ever have. And I like it. More – much more - than you know."

She leaned in closer, so that her lips brushed his ear provocatively. "Actually, I think I'm already addicted," and he had to suppress a groan as her warm breath shivered across his skin.

Her long hesitation, as she lingered tantalisingly close, had him seriously considering taking her then and there, but she spoke before he could get his brain into gear.

"So, I say, let's both be selfish. Just take what we want."

He felt her scent change again, become angry. "But if you abandon me now they'll be no turning back. It'll be over. We'll be over."

The strength in her words, the determination in her tone, the demand of her scent, proved to be an overwhelming cocktail, and Logan knew then, beyond any doubt, that he had found his true mate. She was everything he desired, and more. A mind-blowing contradiction of all that there could be in a woman. She craved his fire just as he craved that goodness within her. It was light joining darkness to create a perfect equilibrium.

He had already known that he would not be able to let her go, even if it meant she might be safer. He had just needed her to make him see it, accept it. Needed her to rise to the challenge and meet him as an equal.

Manhandling her off him as carefully as his sudden urgency would allow, he waited until she had slipped back into her seat, then demanded: "Buckle up."

Reaching for the steering wheel he pulled the camper van back out onto the highway, turning with a slight skid to head back the way they had come. Back to Laughlin City.

"Right then," he announced, voice more animated than usual, sparking with eagerness to get going, to seek justice...to hunt. "I think some questionin' is in order. Startin' with the bartender."


End file.
